Learning My Equal
by 221bdeductions
Summary: (Rusame Oneshots through history) Russia had always felt cold and isolated, until America took his hand, challenged him, threw him into competition, made him fall in love, and refused to give up. That bastard. Didn't his sweet sunflower know that the universe was out to rip apart love from the cold? He may have even gotten Russia hoping again.
1. From The Moment We Met

Every nation sitting at the long table for once were eager for the meeting to get started. Well, everyone except for England who sat at the head with a scowl. He'd rather be anywhere else than waiting for the evidence of his humiliating loss to open the doors and join them.

Russia smiled politely in a way he hoped was not showing his amusement. It was nice to see the self proclaimed world leader brought down a peg or a hundred pegs considering the British Army -the largest in the world-had just lost to a colony.

Russia pulled up his scarf to hide his lips just incase he could no longer hide his growing smirk.

Russia had been hearing the gossip from across the sea for years now. He remembered scoffing when he heard The Thirteen Colonies had challenged England, thinking it was a shame to see one of their kind die so young, but it really was none of his business if the New World was suicidal.

Then, the news got interesting.

It was said that the boy would not stay down. When England took land, America barely paused a second to register the pain before drawing his weapon and rushing to get it back in increasingly insane ways. The boy launched an attack across a river Christmas night. He set his own lands on fire. He wrote to other empires he'd never even met.

For America, it truly was liberty or death, and the boy was too stubborn to die.

So he won.

And there he was, walking into the meeting room. America pushed open the heavy meeting room doors and looked around with a smile so wide it was a miracle it didn't split his lips at the corners. That was the first thing Russia noticed about America. He smiled like the world was a perfect place and he was simply delighted with it, like he had never known suffering. Yet, the his injuries told a different story.

His eyes were too bright under his glasses. They looked like God had plucked out pieces of the sky to make them. Yet, one seemed extra blue because it was contrasted by dark bruises surrounding it. America held himself tall, but he leaned ever so slightly to his right, favoring that leg.

Russia felt disappointment but not surprise faced with the proof that ideals of the new world growing up without violence were nothing more than flimsy dreams. The unspoken promises to raise the youth better was ripped apart by the gears of history, forever driving them forwards no matter the cost.

France, Prussia, and Spain jumped up to hug their ally. Prussia went so far as to lift the new nation and swing around, whooping about victory. Everyone else stood to introduce themselves. A crowd of overlapping voices formed around the new arrival, and no one listened to England demanding that they should go along with the meeting as usual.

Russia was content to wait a few moments until they settled down. He would go introduce himself, but he wasn't in any hurry to meet another nation that would surely come to avoid him either from sensing his power as an empire or being put off by chilling demeanor.

With a sigh, he stood and made his way towards the crowd which parted before him like his peers believed they could freeze just by standing too close to him. America came into view again. The blue coat of his uniform swished around as the new nation swung his hands, in the middle some war story, but he settled down when he noticed a newcomer.

America looked up at the empire before him, and his smile didn't fade. He immediately came closer. Russia could see his own surprised face reflected in the boy's spectacles. America was nearly a head shorter than him, but he didn't seem to mind looking up.

"It's nice to meet you, I am the United States of America but you can just call me America or US for short! I know its a mouthful. I thought about just going with one name, but none of my founders could really agree on just one word. I like what we ended up coming up with anyway. Who are you?" America tapped his foot while he rambled. It was easy to think of this nation as perpetually moving.

The boy offered a hand in greeting, and when Russia took it to shake, he could feel the callouses from gripping riffles for years were already there. The boy had innocent eyes, but he was a warrior. It was important to know that. This was not a normal friendly face, was not a human child. America could be an enemy one day even though his gaze was open and his smile seemed genuine.

"I am Russia. It is a pleasure to meet you, America." The empire found his own smile felt real. It was America's excitement was contagious. Russia could use someone like that around, and his mind briefly entertained the idea of what it would be like to make this newly unowned land his.

"You hands are freezing!" America exclaimed and pulled away. "You should drink something warm. Do they have hot chocolate at your place? I haven't had that in a while, and everyone here is drinking coffee! Which is fine, coffee is fine, but its bland."

"I prefer tea." Russia said conversationally and America said without pause, "Gross."

Russia wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that. This new nation spoke to him like they were already friends.

Thankfully, America filled the silence. It seemed he was a chatterbox, "Darn sorry! I'm sure your tea is great! I just hate England's tea. That stuff tastes like boiled grass."

Russia laughed and quickly stopped himself, but America was already grinning proudly at successfully making a humorous jab at his old ruler.

"You should watch what you say. England is already mad enough at you. It is not wise to stir up tension when you are new." Russia warned when the amusement wore off. He didn't want to see this boy get in a fight he'd probably lose in his current state.

America huffed and crossed his arms immaturely. Yet, his gaze flickered to England who was all the way on the far side of the room. "I'd like to see the old man try! I've already beat him once." The youth was arrogant in his words, but his voice was quieter than it had been previously. He looked up at Russia and insisted, "I'm not scared of him."

Russia was reminded of his younger self standing next to his leader during the mongol invasion around five hundred years ago. He remembered putting on a brave face despite shivering in the face of a stronger enemy.

"Da, I'm sure you aren't." Russia said with more understanding, surprising himself by how much more gentle his tone was. "But it is good to learn to stay out of trouble anyway."

America considered those words for a few moments. He bit his lip nervously before replying, "Nothing gets done without stirring up a little bit of trouble. Thank you for the advise Russia." The polite tone seemed contrived, like thanking someone for a lousy gift.

America began to walk back towards the other nations, but he paused and turned back towards Russia.

Russia had no doubt America had already disregarded the tip to watch is words because the younger nation grinned and said in a much more chipper tone, "I have to actually try and present. I have some revolutionary topics to cover in this meeting."

Russia raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like staying out of trouble."

America laughed, waved, and proceeded to talk about democracy in a room full of monarchies that believed in the divine right of ruling families and therefore that God was on the side of kings and queens.

At least America made a point to assure the nations present that he had no intention of spreading his ideology to them and that the last thing he wanted was another war. That should keep him safe for a while longer.

The new addition to world meetings was certainly unique.

Russia had a feeling America was going to cause a lot of trouble one day, and he couldn't help but looking forwards to seeing what the young nation would do next.


	2. The Gifts You Gave

**1861, Westward Expansion was in full swing in the USA, and Americans were encouraged to move West for free land. This along with America's fast growth encouraged immigration.**

There was nothing unusual about keeping tabs on potential allies. That's what Russia told himself when he bought a ticket aboard a ship setting sail for America. Besides, America was turning out to be a powerhouse when it came to trade, the better terms they were on, the better.

The trip may or may not have also been booked because Russia found he actually began to enjoy America's company. America made meetings a little less boring by whispering to little comments that made Russia have to hold back laughter.

It was always interesting to try and catch glimpses of America's notepad which were filled with doodles sometimes and other times filled by serious ideas for inventions or government reform.

Most of all, it was nice to have America's peppy voice ramble on and on, reminding Russia that he wasn't alone. It was impossible to be lonely with the young nation following him around.

Generally, the nations met once a year, and that for the first time just wasn't enough for Russia. He wouldn't mind a few more world meetings if it meant he got to be smiled at like he was something to delight in.

Watching the new world come into view in the distance, Russia reminded himself to call America that and see if it still flustered the young man. The last time America had been called the new world, he'd gone bright red and insisted he wasn't that different from the rest of them or new anymore. He insisted he was an adult now and the new title no longer suited him, because he had been around a while.

Ha as if. Comparing America to his European influences revealed many contrasts, and he was barely a hundred years old. He looked physically to be in his mid teens. Definitely the odd one out in their little nation get togethers. And America seemed to take different as a compliment in most cases. That was how his dumb units of measurement came into being.

Immigrants rushed off the boat the way waves crashed into the shore. In their excitement, they had little grace. Russia sent one immigrant sprinting off the boat when the man bumped into him and was treated to a cold glare.

Before getting off the boat, Russia returned to his room and grabbed the little hello present he'd brought with him.

By the time he came back above deck, the boat was nearly empty, but it was far from quiet. The crowds on shore weren't just loud, they were roaring. Being so close to the humans' enthusiasm combined in crowds of people starting over felt like standing next to a lightning bolt.

The excitement made him want to jog off the boat, but he didn't. He didn't want to look overeager and embarrass himself. They couldn't all get away with spiriting around like America did.

Stepping off the boat felt amazing. Sturdy ground, oh how people took it for granted. Russia people watched for a few moments. A few new arrivals had tears running down their cheeks. Others stood still and looked out over New York in a daze, like they expected to blink and be back in Europe.

Russia wondered if America felt the people were his the second they stepped off the boat or if it took longer than that.

He recalled how America gushed about his new citizens the last world meeting by exclaiming, "They bring me all their hopes and ideas, and in return, I give them work and a fresh start! With my new expansion, I need as many as can fit on the boats!"

While he searched the crowds for the other nation, Russia felt a slight mental pull behind him and turned to see a young woman hesitating on the boat, her toes just inches away from American land.

She was beautiful in a way that was all Russian. Her blond hair was long and fell freely down her back and shoulders. Her nose was long and fit her face well. She was tall, not too dainty. Her pale skin was already turning a light pink under the summer sun.

And she looked nervous.

Russia always had time to help his people, so he walked over and asked her if she was alright in Russian.

The familiar language made the lady grin, yet when she replied, it was in English.

"Yes, thank you. I'm okay. This is large... a large change. I can do this." She clenched and unclenched her hands and took a deep breath. "My brother is already here. He likes it." She seemed like she was trying to talk herself into it.

Russia was in a strange position. He wanted to help, but he also wanted to advocate for himself and his land. He had a rich culture and beauty back home that this woman shouldn't overlook and immigrate away. He was trying to decide what to say when she stepped off the boat and the connection between them severed.

Russia gasped at the sudden empty feeling. The woman turned back to ask what was wrong but was swallowed by the crowd right in front of him. Swallowed up by America.

Sometimes, it was hard not to resent America for taking away his people. He knew the other nations struggled with a similar feelings. Every time someone moved to America, it meant they were choosing America over where they came from. They disregarded thousands of years of history for a place shiny and new, for an idealist who had yet to be crushed.

Russia wasn't proud of how he considered tossing America's gift into the ocean and getting right back on the boat for a few minutes.

* * *

America realized it was a bad idea to tell Russia to meet him at the docks the second he had arrived to find them in their usual state of cluttered chaos. He looked up at the sky and groaned at his own foolishness. Sometimes, winging things didn't work out. Who would have thought?

He tried to stand on his toes to look over the crowd and found that it did absolutely nothing to help his situation. America really hoped he was due for another growth spurt sometimes soon. He wasn't exactly short, but seeing his annoyingly youthful physical appearance in the mirror at least gave him hope that he had a few inches left to go before he stopped aging completely like the older nations, most of whom were eternally in their twenties.

Without further delay, he took on the crowd. After years of living in his own growing cities, America could weave through crowds like water through narrow openings. His sure steps never slowed as he turned sideways to slip between people. He reached out to catch a falling piece of luggage and stack it back on top of the pile an overwhelmed man was carrying. "Welcome to New York. Don't worry, you get used to the crowds." America assured as he waved and walked on.

He jumped hopped over a puddle of spilt coffee, taking a moment to mourn for the poor soul that had dropped it and help a lady to maneuver around it, welcoming her to his shores with small kindness. He was nearly taken out but a few overeager children running by while their parents shouted after him, and then, his momentary distraction caused him to get shoulder checked by a man rushing through the crowds.

By the time America stumbled out into the open air by the docks, his was wearing a wild grin. Seeing all the liveliness present in his new citizens made him immensely proud.

Although, his smile faded when he saw his guest standing alone on the now empty peer. America hadn't seen a nation look so lost since he declared independence and watched England's heart break. Russia always seemed sure of himself, unshakable. But with the ocean stretching out in the background, a lone figure inevitably looked small and abandoned in front of such vastness.

America wasn't an idiot. He may have his head in the clouds often, but when it counted, his focus carefully controlled. It didn't take long to guess at what was wrong. He didn't even want to think about if Americans started leaving him for another nation in large numbers. The rejection must feel worse than asphyxiation.

He walked forwards and gently placed a hand on Russia's shoulder. Yeah, that didn't go over well. The older nation was clearly lost in his thoughts, and sudden touch wasn't welcome. America was already taking a step back, instinctually sensing that he'd fucked up. It was like the way deer sometimes looked up before they could actually see the hunter.

And then, he sitting on his ass on the dock with wide eyes. Honestly, it wasn't enough to phase him for more than a second. Clearly, the reaction was more flailing than a purposeful hit. America had had worse during childhood scuffles with England's other colonies.

Russia acted like he'd stabbed the younger nation through the heart instead of just shoved him. The other nation backtracked like America was going to explode and everything within three feet be disintegrated. Then, he crept closer like a timid alley cat all while alternated between tense silence and apologizing.

It would be really mean to laugh. Russia looked so genuinely horrified that America wanted to apologize.

Laughing was a big no no. Yet, America's adrenalin response was to laugh, and he had admittedly been startled. Also, the nation everyone else said was terrifying was currently fluttering around him like a concerned mother hen. America imagined a hen with a white scarf around it's neck and lost the battle with himself.

The laugh exploded past his pressed together lips, making an odd noise that made him laugh more and louder. He covered his lips quickly but couldn't completely muffle the noise.

Russia paused his pacing in front of the other nation to stare at him like America had fallen out of the sky, which America had done on serval occasions while trying to build flying machines in the past. He'd gotten that bewildered, slightly panicky look many times from many people wondering why a child had jumped off the shed roof. It never failed to make him giggle, and now was no exception.

Russia reached slowly to offer him a hand up, and America took it immediately, yanking himself to his feet so fast that their head nearly collided. He grinned at the empire and said with his eyes bright with amusement, "Russia, you can breathe now. I'm not dying, and you look like you might faint."

The older nation huffed a surprised laugh and actually did suck in a quick breath right after. "I did not mean to lash out. You startled me."

America brushed off his clothes and straightened his glasses. "Clearly! You need to relax! Luckily, you are on vacation and I am going to show you all the wonders of New York! Stop looking at me like I've grown a second head. What, did you seriously expect me to get upset over a shove? You shocked face was well worth it, my friend. No hard feelings!"

He smirked and then shoved the other nation back, just hard enough to make Russia take a small step back. "And now we're even!"

Russia completely froze. In all honesty, it actually made America uncomfortable how stiff the nation before him stood. He had the strangest feeling that Russia could shatter like all things brittle. He wanted to poke him just to see what would happen. The silence between them stretched on as Russia stared at America the way America stared at an invention that worked just right. It made his cheeks feel hot.

"You are the strangest. Do you have no self preservation? You should not be so relaxed about pushing older, more powerful nations." Russia finally pointed out.

America immediately gave Russia another, much lighter shove. He didn't want to actually start and international incident, but it should be known that he wasn't one to immediately do what he was told, especially when someone prefaced advice by reminding America of how young and nonthreatening he was at this point. he hated to be underestimated, and if Russia thought America would back down from a challenge ever, he would always be proved wrong. "You're just not that scary, buddy. Sorry."

Russia's eyebrows raised high onto his forehead to make way for his eyes to widen further than the had previously during the whole unusual encounter. Then, a slow smile stretched his lips. Apparently "not scary" was a pretty nice compliment to the other nation if the new pink tint on Russia's pale face was any indication.

America didn't question it. Europeans were a weird bunch, and if he'd accidentally stumbled into giving a compliment, it was a happy accident.

"I brought you something." Russia said calmly, much more like his normal self, but the pleasant smile stayed. "I heard that you are having trouble growing wheat in the West, and that your farmers are suffering." Blunt and to the point was his style. America had a problem, he had brought a solution. He pulled a little potted plant that he'd carefully watered during the long boat ride as well as a bag of seeds out of his pocket. "Try this."

America took the wheat with a curious frown, seeing no difference from the stuff he was already trying to grow. Russia chuckled and didn't explain. He would let the other nation see for himself.

* * *

The next world meeting, America raved about how well farming was going in the West. He'd discovered that using wheat from colder countries that was better adapted for hard ground and harsher climates yielded a bountiful harvest.

At the end of the meeting, he nearly tackled Russia with a hug in thanks.


	3. The Times We Shared

Russia was packing up his notes from a meeting he had deemed enjoyable. His presentation on imperialism and what lands he wanted went well. No one dared question him for them, and he was satisfied. Well actually, almost no one dared to question him, but Russia never much minded America's questions.

The nation was still so new and now looked to be in his mid-teens. The older nation did not mind a bit of advice giving and question answering. Russia had once asked America his human age. He had just winked and said, "Old enough to be an spectacular nation." That had not been helpful at all.

He could tell that America was hesitant on the idea of colonizing for obvious reasons, but Russia was confident he would too one day rule over distant lands. Territory was power, and he could see America had a knack for running after that and catching it in a nick of time.

It had been almost a full year since he visited the American coast, but he knew he had seen, so he was confident America was not fading anytime soon. That meant it was a tad safer to try and make him into a friend. Things were going well for once, yet Russia sometimes felt out of the loop with the whole companionship business.

He was learning all over again from when he was a child and his sister taught him to smile at others and be polite, and it seemed that day was going to be another learning experience.

America had walked over and stood next to him. Russia pretended not to notice to watch the way the excitable nation bounced on his toes. America's clothing from meetings had changed from the deep blue uniform, to a spiffy suit, to a simple white shirt with a blue vest and nice slacks. He looked more comfortable without the fancy suit jacket and polished shoes.

Russia had been noticing America has started to wear gloves, and he wondered foolishly if the boy was copying him. Even the older nation did not completely understand why the idea made him feel so warm inside.

"Russia, you should invite me to your place.", America blurted out as if he could not bare to keep the words in any longer.

A little chuckle escaped the nation now picking up his brief case. "Hello, comrade America.", he said calmly with amusement swirling in his eyes. "I do believe it customary for the host to invite the guest."

It was not a mystery as to what had brought this on. America had been traveling recently. As his potential as a nation began to show, older nations began taking more of an interest in him. It put an uncomfortable feeling in Russia's chest that was a mix of anger and nerves.

France had even had the guts to start talking about some "grand gift" for the new nation that made America grin even wider and hug his first ally.

Many nations invited the ex-colony for visits to their countries. America used to accept all the time every time unless he had some rather important meeting back home, and Russia listened each time with a pleasant smile when America gushed about the many sights of the world he had been freed to explore. Russia imagined a bird let out from a cage would say the same things as America.

"I never knew how there was music that could be described as spicy! I never saw anything like the ocean in Athens! Did you know that it nearly rains every day in England? Yet, the palace is so grand! The streets of Paris smell like pastries! Russia, can you believe it?! The world is so big! I wish I could see just how far the sky stretches!"

And Russia really was happy when America was so enthusiastic.

Lately however, America had been refusing trips. He was busy at home with the largest railroad the world had ever seen, and many countries whispered about how it was basically impossible, but America showed no doubt in his grin or in his eyes.

Everything about him radiated a confidence which was strange for someone so young hoping to beat the records of people who had many, many more years of experience.

Russia was an observer for the most part. It was the role he most often found himself in. He was anything but passive when challenged, and he was never shy at meetings, but he did not like to waste his breath.

He especially needed to save air for when America laughed or let his eyes light up. The youth surely had some of England's magic. How else would he take the breath away from Russia's lungs?

That was partly why Russia had never invited America to his house despite imagining how amazed the blond would be at his castle. If America thought England or France's royalty was impressive, he would be left shocked by the majesty in St. Petersburg.

Yet... Russia had so often been told his house was cold, and every winter, America bundled up until he resembled as snowball, and he even complained about what Russia saw as mild temperatures. Russia found himself downright fearful of inviting the temperature sensitive boy to his house, and now, it was the winter of all times.

"I never cared much for formalities.", America said with a mischievous grin that spoke of days of laughter and harmless pranks, a rebel dwelled in his soul, and he could not keep that part of him down long. America did not slow himself with learning ever custom there was in the world. He was far too focussed on things he deemed of more import, his seemingly unreachable dreams.

Russia's smaller smile exhibited the same playful nature but in a way much more controlled and refined. "You must wait until summer." He left the meeting room and was not surprised when America darted to his side on his way out the door with and whined like a child, "Ruuuuusia! That seems like forever! Why can I not visit right now? I reckon you know I am a busy man! This could be your only chance!"

And in that moment Russia made a mistake, a huge mistake when denying America anything.

He looked him in the eye.

Suddenly, he was captive to the wide blue skies that opened up to the universe of the strange man's mind. It was enchanting. It was a magic he was unfamiliar with, and with them so big and questioning, it was adorable. No one with a heart could say no once being taken prisoner by that gaze.

"Russia, there must be something you can show me in your country! Is there not some pretty castle, some good food? Take my to a festival! I love those."

"January 6th is Epiphany.", he said quietly before his mind caught up with his lips.

America whooped with joy, and before Russia could take the offer back, the boy had sprinted off to go speak with England, leaving Russia to look after his escape. He felt like a damned man watching a flame approach. January Sixth was going to be interesting indeed.

And by America's reaction, Russia was sure he had no idea what Epiphany even was.

* * *

The sixth came fast.

Russia waited nervously at the dock as the ship carrying America pulled into the harbor, and a sudden bark of laughter left him before his gloved hand came up to cover his mouth, and even then, he could feel his smile.

America was leaning over the rail of the ship at the very front and waving like they had not seen each other in years. He was bundled up in so many layers of red, white, and blue that he looked like a strange fruit.

Russia waved back in a much calmer fashion, which caused the teen to nearly give him a heart attack when he leaned over the icy rail to yell at the shore line. "Helllllloooo Russia! Aren't you something!"

The personification of the land he was admiring blushed in a way that had nothing to do with wind chill.

Minutes later, he had a chatty American next to him with rosy cheeks and bright, curious eyes. America did not stop talking once until Russia finally got up the nerve to ask what might be an invasive question, but he had to ask for them to proceed with the Epiphany ceremony.

"America, are you a Christian? Epiphany is a Orthodox ceremony celebrating the baptism of Jesus. You see, it would be...improper for you to participate if you are not a believer. You can still watch if you are not. That is not so bad, da?"

He waited for a response and felt instantly relieved when America smiled and poked his shoulder. "Sure am!" The gaze Russia always seemed drawn to softened in understanding and a bit of concern. "I am not sure what branch I agree with the most, though. There are just so many! Is that still alright? I do not want to offend! Freedom of religion is a big deal, and I make an effort to be respectful, so it is really fine if I just watch!", he assured Russia quickly.

Russia was instantly charmed. America could seem uncaring of tradition at time, but when it counted, the other nation's heart was in the right place. Just like Russia, whenever America was cruel or insulting, it was almost always unintentional.

The really were alike...

"Niet, I want you to participate as my guest."

"Thank you!"

Russia lead him to the lake by the cathedral. The priests and a large crowd had already gathered. Russia kept glancing at the confusion on Alfred's face as the lake was blessed and then people began sawing at the ice. Soon, the shape of a cross was cut into the lake.

This was the part Russia really wanted to see America's reaction. The first person stripped down to their undergarments and jumped into the lake. America gasped, and his eyes went comically wide with surprise and horror. His gloved hands covered his mouth which Russia was sure was wide open. "That man fell into the ice! No, he jumped!"

America's eyes went up and down slightly as he followed the man's movements as he dunked under and surfaced again three times, making the sign of the cross after each before running from the lake and yelling out from the cold shock to his body and the victory in his spirit. People cheered and wrapped in in fluffy robes and blankets.

America clapped along even though he did not understand what had just happened. He was someone easily swept up in excitement and others' joy, Russia noted.

Then, the next person jumped in and America's loud exclamation of surprise made a few people laugh which caused the confused nation to blush and wave shyly. America shy? This truly was a day of miracles!

America looked up at Russia and asked with a small smile even as his body shook from the cold winds and mist from the lake. "What is going on here?"

Russia was happy to explain a part of his culture. "This is the celebration of Jesus being bapitized. We recreate it in a sense by jumping into the lake. The three dunks are for The Father, The Son, and The Holy Ghost. The water is blessed before hand and the blessing is said to last the year. The cold shocks the body, but is good for..." He trailed off, forgetting the English word.

To his surprise, America waited patently instead of rushing him to remember. Russia clapped his hands together as he remember. "Immune system! Da, that!"

He was surprised America's April reminiscent giggles did not melt another hole in the ice. "You Russians sure are resistant to the cold! Jee whiz! If I did not know better, I would say you were joshing me!"

The teenage nation watched multiple people partake, clapping each time and laughing along with the crowd whenever someone had a particularly interesting reaction to the cold water. Russia was pleased he looked like he was having fun.

"I am going to take a dip now, stay here a moment.", Russia told him calmly before taking off his coat. He shivered at the cold wind that ripped through his simple shirt and pants. He took off his shirt and pants, leaving only his undergarments. He did not miss the way America's cheeks darkened and his eyes widened before he jokingly blew a kiss.

Russia smacked him lightly upside the head.

Then, he hesitantly unwound his scarf and and held it out to America with a strange lump in his throat. "This is dear to me. Keep it safe."

America took the fabric carefully and smiled softly at him with loyalty sparking in the two skies behind misted glass. "I promise."

With that, the larger nation walked towards the lake with bare feet that stung with each step from the snow. He greeted the priest politely before walking calmly into the freezing water. His head always felt so clear when doing this.

The first dunk was always the worst. His body stiffened in surprise as if was covered in frozen water. He sent up a prayer that the winter would be mild this year.

He surfaced and dunked under again quickly after a quick sign of the cross. It was important not to stay in the water too long or he could get hypothermia. By the time he surfaced again, his body was numbing pleasantly.

The third dunk was so easy he almost did not want to exit the lake. While under, he prayed for the success of Russia and most importantly the Russian people. That was normally what he did this time of year, but this time, there was another thing he thought of. He sent up his hope for friendship this year.

When he came up and caught sight of baby blue eyes, he did not think it selfish or foolish to ask for a bit of heavenly assistance in keeping the relationship slowly growing.

He rushed from the water, gasping softly at the cold wind. America quickly handed him his clothes with a grin as he rambled about how long Russia had stayed in the water and how impressive and shocking it was. He wrapped the scarf around Russia's neck.

Russia huffed a laugh as he put on his dry clothes frantically. "Are you going? I want to get inside soon.", he asked his guest.

America looked at the water as if it could come alive and drown him, but he nodded determinedly and began working on the buttons of his jacket. "Course! I am not missing out on a single experience! I'm gonna do it all!"

"One thing then.", Russia walked behind the younger nation and grabbed his hand, molding his fingers so that the middle, pointer, and thumb were pressed together. America gasped. "Your hands are freezing!" The near frozen man laughed softly, enjoying how warm America's hand was in contrast and placing a hand on his shoulder. "This is what you use to make the cross in Orthodoxy.", he explained.

America grinned and pulled away. "Got it! I need to get in the water before I lose my nerve!"

Russia couldn't resist teasing. "Is the little one afraid?"

"I am not little!"

America was already shaking like a leaf, and soon enough, he was stripped down to a single shirt and grey long underwear. He was not showing nearly as much skin as the men before him had, yet multiple layers had been set in Russia's arms as the other nation disrobed. He had plenty to change back into.

America did not take off his socks, saying that he could not bare to walk across the snow without them.

As Russia watched, he slowly set his foot down from where he stood on top of his boots and let out a cute squeak before his eyes hardened in determination. America ran to the lake like the hounds of hell were at his heels, jumping and taking the largest steps he possibly could.

The warmer nation did not hesitate to jump into the cold water, or at least, he would not have if he got the chance. His wet socks did nothing to help him as his mad dash caused him to slip. His arms flailed as he crashed int the freezing depths. Russia's mouth fell open slightly in surprise. His cheeks turned a darker red. Why did America have to be such a dork, and worse yet, why did Russia like it?

When the klutz surfaced the first time, it was with a scream of shock that sent laughter through the crowd and made Russia take a few steps closer to the lake. America did not take his time with the bobs. He dunked up and under as quickly as he could, and his hand flew from his forehead to just under his chest, to his shoulders in the fastest cross Russia had ever laid eyes on.

He was sure on the third one the other nation smacked himself on the face from such speed.

Then, the soaking wet nation launched himself from the lake and ran over.

America's cheeks were pink, his skin pale, and his hair darkened with water, but his eyes were laughing and alive. He snatched his clothes back as Russia held them out. "I am freezing! How do you do that every year?"

America seemed frantic as he pulled on his boot with one hand while trying to put on one of his jackets with the other. He jumped up and down to keep warm while gasping softly every time his other foot hit the snow.

As fun as it was to watch, Russia would feel bad if he did not at least try to help.

"Stop, silly American. You need to take off your wet shirt, or the warm clothes will do nothing." He calmly reached out and gripped the bottom of America's shirt that was pretty much clear at this point anyway and sticking to his form.

The affect was instant. America's cheeks turned from irritated pink to a deep, rose red. He tripped while putting on his shoe and fell forward into Russia's arms, yet instead of backing away, the smaller nation sighed happily and cuddled closer, stealing the warmth from Russia's dry, steadily growing damp jacket.

"Oh my gosh! You're warm!", America exclaimed and latched himself onto Russia.

Russia should have pushed him away. America needed to get dressed, people would start staring, and the silly, smily nation was soaking his favorite jacket, but...

He stood there was with wide eyes and a sweet man in his arms with a frozen body and a melting heart, because America had called him "warm." It was more than he had ever hoped for, so instead of pulling away, Russia took America into his large jacket by opening it and wrapping one side around him. With that, he guided the shivering nation to the Church to warm up.

He could have not asked for a better Epiphany.

They drank warm drinks and America even had a shot of vodka which made his face scrunch up. Once they were warm and dry, Russia took the other nation to his home where America curled up in the guest bedroom under the many layers of blankets Russia had prepared for him and mumbled a quick goodnight without unpacking his bag.

Russia sighed from the doorway and carefully closed the door, feeling warm inside and happier than he had been in far too long.


	4. The Trust We Gave

1867

She was beautiful.

How could she not be with the gorgeous land that made her up? Glistening glaciers, animals of every kind roaming free with the spirit of a wild lost now in many countries, big snowflakes but also warm sun, green fields, rushing rivers and the lull of ocean waves. This girl was land of every kind.

She almost did not seem real. It was so strange to hold something so young and new in the world in his arms and no that this little being had come from him. He had never imagined such a phenomenon was possible, but he should have guessed nothing worked normally in his life.

This child had no mother. He had no one to share in raising her, but he had to figure something out. He felt as if he had woken up in the middle of the ocean with no boat and no chance of rescue.

He knew from the humans in his country that most fathers were scared to have children. The babes seemed to motivate while putting the fear of failure at eye level. Before to adults, failure only hurt themselves. But with child... Every choice was to be carefully consider less it affect the treasure they protect.

But, they made it work, made the necessary changes. Russia was sure his life wasn't getting any more normal, and he was more than scared. He felt as if this child had been condemned to death and it was all his fault. A blade dangled over their heads just waited to fall.

He could not back out of his dangerous job any more than he could wash the blood from his hands. This babe was so fragile. She was fair, snow white skin and tuffs of blond hair could be seen peaking out of the blankets she was swaddled in in her father's arms.

He had not set her down since he found her crying in the snow. Her little body had been red then from the sing of the cold. His heart had nearly stopped, because even if he he had not been able to feel that she was not human or could not feel that she was a part of his land the second she was near like he had, those wide, violet eyes told him everything he needed to know.

He hadn't been this scared since the Mongols beat him as a child or the first time he was invaded. No one could know Alaska had a personification. Russia knew the world was cold and filled at the time with harsh empires imperializing. They would do anything for land and that included striking down a baby girl to crush his heart.

This precious life in his arms was a danger to him. Attachments were dangerous, and as such Russia had tried to hand her off to a nurse, yet suddenly, he was more paranoid that a mentally ill man screaming at the walls where there was nothing there. This nurse could harm his child.

Anyone could harm his child. He had yanked the baby back close to his chest when the lady reached for her.

Russia did not have time to raise a child. He did not the stability to raise a child. He had seen for himself how his government changed so often, rising and falling like the tide, and sometimes huge waves crashed and broke everything, leaving behind a fresh slate.

Yet, who could he entrust this beautiful little girl to? He knew serval nations had raised children before, but most of those had been colonies, not biological babies, and they had been toddlers, not newborns.

His first choice would have been China. He was old and calm, and Russia had seen the man truly cared for his little siblings and son, yet China was weak now and being torn apart by other imperialist, stretched thin and then divided. Russia could not give his daughter to someone she would easily be taken from.

Spain was a nice man and had raised one of the Italy brothers, but he was much too warm to understand a winter nation.

There was France who had raised a few colonies, but the man was a coward in Russia's eyes. He had not been able to keep his shining star of colonies. His dear New France was ripped from him. Russia still remembered seeing France at meetings afterwords staring at the table with shocked, red-rimmed eyes as if the battles were still playing in his mind and knowing the PSTD was taking a tight hold.

England had raised serval, but he was not fatherly material anymore. Russia would argue that he never had been. There was no doubt that England's heart was softened by America for serval years, but he still stole a child from another father, and the second America gained a mind of his own England did what he had to do as nation. Russia remembered what America had told him the first time they met and black eye the young nation had supported.

He also knew that England had done far worse to other colonies, but what of America? The sky-eyed nation seemed to have a way of melting hearts. He made a harsh empire treat him like a son instead of a subject. He got nearly ever nation to smile at least once. He had his flaws of course, but he would never harm a child, and his government had been almost the same since America was formed, giving him a stable platform.

But America could not be more than a teenager. He was incredibly young and unexperienced. He may not have fallen too hard yet, but he would suffer too. It was a nation's fate to suffer.

Russia looked at the baby in his arms and sighed. "What did I do to be given such responsibility?", he asked her and got no response from the sleeping child.

* * *

America looked stronger than before. His body had definition that could be seen even through his many layers, and the confidence in his gaze was now backed with fact and not just steel dreams.

Just as Russia had once predicted, the younger nation had been trying his hand at imperializing. He should have predicted that America would do that as strangely as he did everything else. America loved the world and the universe, and it seemed as if the universe wanted to love him back with the cheery man's luck. Good cheer was rewarded with things to have good cheer over.

America had jumped into his first war with an empire since the revolution to save another oppressed nation that he sympathized with. He had not joined the war for land. The war was a huge success with only around 400 Americans dying in battle. Americans called it "a splendid little war."

Once Cuba had been freed and Spain was defeated at his feet, America found himself accidentally in possession of Guam, Puerto Rico, the Philippines and Cuba who he set free.

Russia remembered how conflicted America had been about imperializing, and he wondered if that moral issue was still there. The problem was, America did not have much of a choice unless he wanted to crash and burn. Brooke Adams predicted that in twenty years, the American economy and would put the USA as number one, but that was only if they had people to sell to. Colonies fixed that problem right up.

The rising nation was wearing a long coat to protect him from the biting winds. His eyes sparkled and his hair was as wild as Russia had ever seen it from the storm outside. The younger nation wiped off his glasses of snow droplets and rushed over to shake Russia's hand with his own gloved one. "Hey big guy!"

Russia smiled through the dread building up on his chest, weights of uncertainty just kept getting denser the closer he was to making the deal, and America had no idea what he was getting into. Russia had requested to speak with him alone and their bosses had agreed although suspiciously.

"Hello, little one. You have grown. How old are you now, a teenager for sure?", he asked calmly. Normally, he would not pry into America's human age right after saying hello, but he terrified to give his daughter to an energetic child who could drop her or forget her or... He needed to stop thinking or he would go insane.

"I have. Taking on some more land really boasted my height. Soon, I'll be taller than you!" America elbowed him playfully with enough force to send a lesser nation to their knees, but Russia just chuckled and responded with a shove that sent America backpedaling with wild laughter.

It was one of the things they liked about each other. They never needed to worry about accidentally using too much strength.

Russia sighed and quickly fell serious. "You did not answer my other question."

America just winked and and moved to take off his coat, ignorant of the other man's stressed and serious mood. He threw it casually over a nearby chair and then sat on the table, swinging his feet. "None of your concern. You won't like it."

"Fourteen.", Russia guessed young to peeve the other nation.

America raised an eyebrow and leaned forward with a smile tugging on his lips and a challenge in his eyes. "Shame on you then. Look at you inviting a youth to your home and getting him alone even, you cradle snatcher. Should I call for help?"

Russia normally would have been shocked by America's bold teasing and then pleasantly amused, but he had only one thing on his mind and that was his daughter's future.

"Sixteen.", he guessed more accurately.

America's smile fell and his feet stilled. "What's it to you? I am not a child. Heck, why am I even here? This is just a signing over on some land, and I am really grateful for the good deal and all. Two cents in acre is great, but if the real price is an interrogation then I should be on my way."

"Alaska is a little girl, a baby, my child.", Russia said sharply to stop playing the game. He was getting nowhere the way he had been playing it, and America should know what he was getting into.

America's eyes widened and his hands moved up as if to cover his open mouth but stopped with his fingertips just past his chin. Then, he quickly stood up and moved closer to Russia and peered into his eyes to detect a lie. Russia stared back. He had nothing to hide.

America's gaze changed from questioning. He threw open the shades on the gates to his soul allowing Russia to see everything he wanted. America looked completely shocked and a bit nervous, but he looked emotional in those eyes with warmth. Russia wanted the summer in those eyes for his daughter.

"You- you want me to raise your baby?", America asked slowly as if he couldn't believe the words passing his own lips and expected Russia to laugh and tease him for mishearing.

Russia felt the words like a blow. All he could do was nod. He wanted to tell America his reasoning. He also wanted to threaten the youth until he would not dare to do anything but spoil the little girl and treat her like a dame, because he knew Russia would skin him if he messed this up. At the same time, he wanted to take America's hand and whisper to him about how he knew he could do this.

America displayed something that did not shape his face often. He was biting his lip. His eyes were wide, and his hands were fiddling together. He was scared and uncertain. Russia did not blame him. A child was no easy burden. Another nation's child was a bigger burden.

America shook his head and Russia could not control his reaction. He was no longer a proud nation. In this moment, he was nothing but a desperate father and America was the man that could shape his child's life for the better.

 _Ivan_ reached out and grabbed America's shoulders hard enough that he saw a flicker of pain in the blue sky, but to his credit, America did not flinch nor did he draw a weapon that Russia knew he probably had on him somewhere. America was carefree in nature, but he was not a fool.

"You must do this, America. You know this is right. I cannot raise a little girl! I cannot even look after my sisters! She will hate me, she will freeze, I will fall into my rages and drunken rants and she will see... Her innocence will be stolen by invaders. Her smile by general winter, her hope from the many shifts in power. I am not a good man!", Russia didn't realize he was yelling until his last word echoed in the meeting room.

America was completely still as if moving would result in the world shattering. Russia's vision was blurry and he knew his eyes had water collecting in them. he blinked back the moisture and stared at America intensely.

"You are a good man.", America whispered. He carefully put one of his hands on Russia's hand that was squeezing his left shoulder. Russia watched with wide eyes when instead of pulling free, America rubbed his hand until Russia relaxed his hold. They both sighed in relief.

The younger nation seemed to age in those few moments until he looked at Russia with such knowledge that the colder nation felt his heart beat pickup. There was understanding in that gaze that America could not possibly have.

"Show me your daughter.", America said and then smiled weakly. He was shaken and overwhelmed, but there he was trying to reassure Russia. The older nation was all at once reminded why this was a good thing. America simply cared.

The visiting nation must have seen the relief in the other's eyes, for he cautioned, "We don't even know if she likes me."

Moments later found America cooing over the little girl as he held her expertly and bounced her up and down. Russia watched from the doorway as his every instinct screamed at him that the baby should be with him. He know better than to let emotion win over mind.

Russia could have predicted the child would like America and that America would be instantly taken with her, but what he had not foreseen was how America would act like a professional baby handler. There was no uncertainty when he picked up the child.

He did not look the least bit awkward, and Russia realized without doubt that this was the right thing to do. That did not make it any easier.

Fluttering giggles flew with booming laughter. America was making silly faces to amuse the child. He pranced around the room, sometimes during a random twirl that made the little girl squeal.

Russia felt a longing start to stir from deep inside where he had trapped it in sleep. The dream of being human, having a family. He would love the simple life, and now, the dream was more specific. He would love to have a spouse with the eyes of a dreamer and the energy of the roaring ocean.

He quickly shook the thought from his mind. A normal life was impossible for him, and the world knew America was hard to win over. He seemed to have no interest or just did not notice any attempts of romance, floating by admirers with childlike innocence.

Russia needed to end this before he said something stupid.

He grabbed America's coat to get the other going before either of them chickened out of the deal that they were making. He wrapped it around America's shoulders, and looked down at the smaller nation who was cradling his child. America looked up at him without any hesitation, but his gaze was that of a man who could no longer predict anything of the future.

Russia ran his hand through America's soft hair and exhaled slowly when the man with his child closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. The word family swirled in the back of his mind. This was painfully domestic.

"Take good care of her."

America nodded but did not open his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Russia.", he said with his head now somehow against Russia's chest. The baby made a cute babble as America held her up against his heart.

"Leave now.", Russia ordered. He wanted no pity. The stern tone had America's eyes snapping open, but the blond did not tense or back away. He calmly shook his head. "Not until you say goodbye and tell me her name."

Russia laughed softly, but the sound came out in segments as he choked on the lump in his throat. "You are intent on making me feel more than I have. Most nations would take the child and run, yet you stay here and order me right back when I order you. Is there anything that can get you to respond normally?"

America smiled at him and tilted his head before yawning and closing his eyes again. "Normal, huh? What's normal? I am a personification of a land and people raising a child during my own spring and cuddling with one of the world's most dangerous men. Normal doesn't fit in the picture."

"Did you not sleep on the ride here?", Russia asked quietly and ignored the comment about cuddling.

"I was too excited to see you, but don't let it get to your head."

Russia put a hand on America's back and began to lead him towards the door. America stopped suddenly and whirled around so fast that Russia actually took a step back. America's was stern. It was strange to see, but it looked like the younger nation was going to scold him.

"You cannot just usher me away when you don't like what I'm telling you. I refuse to leave until you have given this child something to show you give two cents about her and her wellbeing. She's damn well going to ask about her birth. You better give her some reassurance that you did this for her, because you had to.", America said deadly calm.

He stared down the powerful nation before him in a way that most in his position would not dare, and Russia fell a bit further. What he was looking at was not a young man but an empire killer.

Every time America showed that strength hidden behind a sweet smile, it made the older nation's interests spark. He looked from the whirlwind before him to the peaceful child and felt his heart physically ache.

She was so cute. Her tiny fingers were in her mouth, and her eyes were locked on the adults with carefree interests.

"Tell her that I am sorry. Tell her that her father would have loved her if that was what was best for her." With that, Russia turned away before his heart took another beating, but a strong hand grabbed his wrist and nails dug into his glove with enough force that he felt them pricking the skin underneath.

He turned back with a sudden flare up of anger. He did not understand why was this man intent on keeping him here to suffer. Russia's fake and downright creepy smile found its way to his face. He for once wanted America to be scared of him if it would get the smaller nation to let him escape and nurse his wounds in private. "What more do you want from me.", he practically hissed.

America moved closer to get in his face, showing that he wouldn't back down on this one. "You damn empires always just think of protecting yourselves!", he snapped and Russia felt the words hit their mark expertly, causing the walls to slam down in his mind.

"And what would you know of empires? You have a few colonies and think you are significant! You are like an ant to the true world powers.", Russia insulted back instantly as if out of habit. He did not let anyone insult him and get away with it. He kept his gaze away from Alaska less he snatch her back.

"I know that, and I am working my ass off to get some solid footing in this crazy role I've been given, but I know a hell of a lot about the cruelty of empires! Your words hurt them, so they declare war because they can! They lose those they love and then shun them instead of trying to make things better because of their stupid pride! And they lose! They lose because of it, but that would be okay if it only hurt them!"

Russia felt a bit lost. They were obviously not just talking about Alaska anymore. He was gaining insight into America's mind that he wasn't sure he even wanted.

The younger man did not let go of his wrist or loosen his hold, but his eyes softened until only raw hurt laid there and his mouth was in a soft frown. He looked painfully young.

"If I take this deal, Alaska will be family to me, and I don't want this feeling for my daughter. The feeling of never being enough of being unloved. Gosh Russia, I don't expect you to understand, but I miss England caring like family."

Russia was still now and quiet. He had never expected America to say such a thing, but he should have. He often noticed the younger nation people watching, how his eyes lingered on family. America continued, his voice now shaking with anger and frustration.

"And because he's an empire, he shut off pain instead of dealing with it. You all think being a human is so weak, and maybe it is, but its all we've got for ourselves in this world, and be holding your humanity back, you hurt the next generation. You need to understand that your cowardice in the face of having emotional pain will destroy your children. My brother cried for days when France never came back for him, but he didn't need to be taken back as a colony, all he needed was a fucking letter."

America looked Russia in the eye and the older nation saw the fires of past wrongs had been absorbed in the young man's mind and that America could use the past wrongs of the world as fuel to take out anything in his way of making sure such things never occurred again.

"I will not have my daughter feeling that."

"I will write.", Russia promised softly.

"You better.", America threatened before storming out the door.

* * *

 _Dear Alaska,_

 _I hope you will understand the reasons behind giving you away when you are older, but I don't want it to be the main focus of this letter. As troublesome as it may be, I have come to realize that even us that are less than human must deal with the curse of feelings or someone else will have to deal with them, probably you from mine. I will admit to missing you even though we only knew each other for a few days. I lay awake and wonder how America is treating you. He has been coming into the past few meetings with bags under his eyes and heavy feet. I assume that is because of you, my snowflake. I remember how you refused to sleep at night. Give your caretaker some breaks, he is trying his best. I feel bad to say that it is still somewhat amusing that he has met his match in stubbornness, and he did say some unkind words to me the night of your adoption, so don't give him too easy of a time either._

 _I hope you are growing strong, and I long to see you, my dear daughter_

 _Your father, Russia_

* * *

 _Dear Alaska,_

 _America told me that you've started walking today. I do not understand why this makes me so happy. You are just putting one foot in front of the other, and I knew that you would do it eventually. You come from too strong a bloodline to be a failure so early on._

 _Keep walking my snowflake._

 _Also, I asked about your first word. Bear is a very good choice considering you were warning your idiot dad to look behind him._

* * *

 _Dear Alaska,_

 _I should have known you shined too bright to be a normal frozen wasteland. I am happy for you with the discovery of gold and oil on your land, and now I regret giving you away more intensely and more often. I wonder how old you are now, but I fear that if I ask it will end with my pipe through America's scull. He had been smug about the discovery as you know. I hope he worships the ground you walk on for all the good you've done him._

 _A very proud and slightly annoyed Russian_

* * *

 _Dear Alaska,_

 _I am glad that you will never have to endure a world meeting. I have decided to write this to distract myself from my headache. I can not stop thinking about you when I let my mind wonder. Being a parent can never escape you, so do not have babies._

* * *

 _Alaska,_

 _Your dad is an idiot, but a nice one. I wish I could use you to spy on him for me, but I do not think you know how to write yet. When you do start writing, I hope you will reply to my letters. I wonder how old you are now, but I do not ask. I wonder what your human name is, but it is not my right to know. I bet its something very American. Thats the price we both must pay for you being raised in that country._

 _Do learn soon to write soon. As my child, I expect your mind to be fast and sharp._

* * *

 _Dear Alaska,_

 _The time is WW1 and I write to you from behind large snowbanks while hoping no Germans spot me. This war is like no other, but I will win. It comforts me that your country is not here. America is not suited for such conflict yet, and his forces are all there to protect his land where they belong. You are part of that land. If I had kept you, you would already have been under constant fire, but things are shifting. I hope you are learning how to fight. No one ever knows what happens next. It is the only certain thing besides death._

* * *

Russia was out.

The relief made his entire body lighter. During the war, it felt like having metal in his chest as if every bullet hole that had healed with the supernatural healing all nations possessed had not popped out but had instead stayed in his body and piled up, blocking arteries and causing the blood to pile up like the fires of communism until it exploded like projectile blood spatter.

Now, his blood was nice, and clean, and very flowing with new spirit.

He was at what he swore would be the last Allied meeting that he would ever attend. He had files held securely in his hands, and he was just itching to hand it off to his allies. He was out. Out of the Great War, out of his Civil War, and out of capitalism.

He walked into the meeting room and the small smile on his face faded as he blinked slowly a few times. The war had taken a lot out of him, but he didn't think he was tired enough to be seeing double.

Two youthful faces, two cute European button noses, two thin pink lips, mirror image faces staring back at him framed by blond strands.

Then, he began to notice some differences. One of the men in front of him was slightly taller with strange purple eyes nearly the same as Russia's own. His once pure white skin was decorated with red scratches and bruises. Some were tinted green or yellow as they faded away, and some were black and fresh. His gaze was harder than the wide eyed man next to him.

Unmarked tan skin surrounded the two universes shining from his face. Russia would know that gaze anywhere as well as the smile that followed soon after. He wore a suit today, on a business trip and not in the war yet so without a military uniform. He somehow made it look casual with the way he leaned tilted his head and the breathy huff of amusement that escaped his lips. "Hello Russia. I bet you didn't expect to see me here."

"America, what are you doing?", Russia asked tensely.

He had no business caring, but a part of him still wished to know that at least one main player nation would get out of this crazy time period unscarred.

American shrugged. "Germany has been really getting on my nerves lately with his unrestrained submarine warfare. He needs to cut it out, but he won't meet with me, so I'm discussing...other options."

"You're joining the war."

"Not quite yet, but probably soon. Which means this war will be won soon." America's aura radiated confidence that made Russia feel sick. That smile would not last long surrounded by bodies in the trenches.

"Don't be too cocky.", came a quiet voice that nearly made Russia jump. He always seemed to forget when Canada was there.

America brushed his twin's caution off. "Don't worry. I'm going to make Germany wish he never attacked anyone." He laughed, but Russia felt a chill as that laughter steadily slowed and darkened until the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"Especially not so cowardly as to use chemical weapons.", America spat as if very words had a bad taste he needed to rid of. His eyes promised murder and Russia had never pitied Germany, but he came pretty close in that moment.

His mind flashed back to the world where Canada had sat with bandages around his his eyes after getting chemicals in them after the battle of Y-Pres. He still refused to miss any information, so he dealt with any pain and allowed himself to be lead around by England, and by the way America looked furious, he had somehow known about it.

Then, America blinked and the rage was just gone, hidden behind the sky. He reached out to put a hand on Russia's shoulder. "Its too bad you're leaving now. I would have liked to fight with you a bit, but hey, do what's best for your folks. I've got something for you."

Russia raised an eyebrow in curiosity until America reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled letter. "I wrote this baby in Alaska." He winked and Russia's heart stopped.

Large gloved hands reached out to gingerly take the letter as if it could shatter just by his touch. His daughter, his baby, had written to him. He had waited for this so long that he nearly forgot he was waiting.

Struck by sudden joy, he kissed America unexpectedly on the cheek, his lips just barely touching the corner of America's soft smile. Warm, his skin was so warm. Russia swept out from the meeting room while leaving behind two stunned North Americans in his wake, one slightly terrified and the other bright red but grinning wildly.

* * *

Russia had been so eager, but now he sat in his private office after giving strict orders not to be disturbed with the letter unopened before him as it had been for the past four hours, and that wasn't even counting the plane ride time where he had not even removed it from his pocket.

He wanted-needed- to hear what his daughter had to say to him, but he was terrified, and the longer the letter reminded untouched the thicker the invisible wall between him and his child's words grew.

Finally with a growl of frustration, he tore open the letter and began to devour every word.

 _Dear Russia,_

 _It's nice to finally talk to you. I learned how to write a while before and only have the excuse that I was a bit nervous. Who wouldn't be? I don't blame you for giving me up, and your letters are very kind even if some of them have some insult to my dad, but I feel slightly guilty, because I laugh at each one. I've been treated really well and very much like a princess, but the finding of gold din't cause that. It may be hard to believe, but America wants a normal, human love, father-daughter love between us. I like that. I've learned many things such as walking, reading, writing, mining, and everything to do with camping since you saw me last. I am now around eleven years old, but Dad says I'm mature for my age. Sometimes, I feel like the parent. I'm glad I'm not fighting too. It sounds terrifying, but I train with the American troops in Alaska when I can. I like feeling strong. I wonder about you and hope to meet you one day, Dad says you're a good man. He's fighting soon, and it makes me realize how much I'm going to miss both my parent's. Thank you for writing so often._

 _Your snowflake and America's little fighter,_

 _Anya Jones_


	5. The Regrets

**Since we left off at WW1, this part of the story takes place in the grand Roaring Twenties, or at least grand in America. The stock market was at an all time high, and prohibition was in full spring. Cars and entertainment of every kind swept the USA and turned in into a theme park like environment for the middle class and extremely rich.**

 **Meanwhile, Russia was going through a serious of disasters. Famine hit on 1921 and lasted through 1922. Although only about a year and a half long, the famine killed an estimated amount of five million people. This happened in part because the government had sold the nation's grain to pay for increased industrialization.**

 **The Russian Civil War was also ending, and the Bolsheviks, the Red Shirts, would win against the White Shirts, who were partly helped by allied soldiers. The country was currently socialist and under the philosophy of Marxist Communism, which suggested good relations with other nations. Therefore, Russia was not seriously fighting the USA over their different economic opinions at this point (although they did fight from 1918 to 1920).**

 **Wow, that was a lot of history. Let us get on with the story!**

Russia was looking forward to a short escape at least. His country was aching, but he could feel progress starting up again. As such, his relief was dampened in part by the large stacks of paperwork he had to do that nearly touched the ceiling of his office at this point.

He had little to no time to actually work on it when he was also expected to help smooth over hatred from his civil war while fighting occasionally in said war.

It was exhausting to say at the least.

That was why when he saw the small letter on his desk addressed from the United States and with America's rushed scribble on it due to the excitable nation never possibly being able to catch his hands up to his thoughts and ideas that could pop into his mind, he snagged the chance at vacation even as his heart lurched uncomfortably at seeing America again.

The image of when he'd last seen him flashed before his eyes.

 _America stood tall with the wind whipping around him as if it was trying to knock him over without success. America had his hands firmly placed on his riffle. One leg wasn't taking as much weight as the other, and he had a black eye that reminded Russia of the first time they met._

 _Yet, that bright smile was missing. America looked stern. His eyes still resembled the sky, but there was a storm in them. His troops stood behind him, and Russia saw America the empire killer instead of America the sweet young man._

It felt amazing to slam his office door until he heard the flapping of papers and realized the door closing had created a gust of wind to knock the carefully organized stacks over. Then, he had rushed down the halls with America's letter tightly in his hands to forget the problem like a child that had knocked over a glass.

He hoped his poor maids would clean it up while he was away.

He promised his boss that he would try to talk America around to Russian political beliefs, and that had been enough to give the trip approval. That had been America's reason for writing to him anyway except the other way around.

He marveled at how easy it was to travel now with the airplane, and he wondered if America had great pride in inventing such a thing. It seemed that the younger nation's mind came up with laughable ideas that he somehow made a reality filled with his vision.

Russia got to the United States late that night, and he glanced at the address on his letter again. He was in New York, and the lights in every apartment glistened. Music was heard where ever his feet took him. He felt rather lost, but almost did not care.

He could wonder these streets all night.

What dream had he stumbled into? This was America's fantasy world. He passed a fountain that poured out drinkable water if the way people were filling jugs was any indication. On the rim of the fountain, a black man with a trumpet played music like nothing Russia had never heard before. It was upbeat and loud.

He wanted to dance, but he did not know the style of American dance that would go with such a tune. As he watched, passerby dropped coins into a hat at the musicians feet, and kids began to dance.

The little girls wore such glistening clothes that Russia knew he was in an upperclass region of the city, or at least he thought so until more children arrived in casual attire and began to giggle and join in until the rich girls' parents pulled them away from the lower class.

The lower class just kept dancing.

Their arms swung wildly like America's did when he talked, and the feet... How could they move that fast? Their little shoes only added to the tune.

Russia smiled unnoticed to the side as he realized this must be the "jazz" that America could not stop talking (bragging) about. He very much like it, but it was so America, and he wondered if he could one day add a nice Russian spin.

His smile abruptly died. No, America would be furious. Just like the last time they'd spoken...

 _"I thought that we could be friends! Why are you doing this? You're an idiot, Russia! You will fall, and I will give the final shot if you make me!"_

With those thoughts, the tall man managed to pull his mind back to the task at hand while feeling heavy and almost sick. He finally found the hotel they were supposed to be meeting at only to discover the meeting room cold, dark and empty. The receptionist was kind enough to tell him that the man who had rented it had escaped with the president rushing after him. She thought he was by now at a party in Long Island and to give him the address.

Although annoyed, Russia could not find this surprising. You see, he had not expected America to be happy to see him. He would find the insolent child and drag him to the meeting room if he had to bash his head in with his pipe so be it. America was too stubborn, too loud, too overwhelming.

He was the perfect example of gluttony, not because of the chub that Russia found cute. No, because America stuffed himself with everything he loved and barely stopped long enough to observe the rest of the universe and learn. It was as if the boy was intent on filling his mind and memories with everything he wanted and was somehow being allowed to rush past what he did not.

Actually, that could not be true, and Russia had to admit he was being unfair in his harsh thoughts. He needed to be the bigger man and show the compassion and fairness of his new government where everyone was equal, but he would make sure to fight for that idea to survive.

Imagines of blue fire in eyes flashed in his mind. The young nation had shivered in the Russian cold, but that was the only thing that seemed shaken about him.

Russia shook his head to get rid of the memory.

Anyway, he figured he would take the boat to Long Island and retrieve the other. Then, he could talk with America like he had expected to. All would be simple and well if he played his cards right. There didn't need to be conflict. He was sure of it.

He should have known that nothing ever went so simply while at an American party. Once Russia was at the address given to him, he stood outside the building in nothing short of shock. America was in there?

Fireworks boomed in the air and reminded him far too much of the explosions in the recent Great War. Music boomed, hundreds of voices shouted out in delight. Drunk men and women were passed out on the grass outside. He was sure by the way that a car next to him was shaking that some inappropriate activities were going on in there.

This did not add up. Alcohol was banned in the United States of America. Prohibitionists had won and proudly declared victory. Russia could not for the life of him understand what he was seeing and why it was like this. He thought prohibition had made America seem so innocent, young, and cute.

It also had reassured that him that just maybe America would not be turning to shots to numb his pain the way Russia regretfully did.

He took a deep breath and entered the building that surely held the answers he was seeking. Jazz music blared along with Blues, Country, and every other song available to Americas with a sound able to easily dance to.

It was like entering another world. This could not be the same universe where Russians were starving and people still grieved the loved ones lost in the largest and most intense fighting anyone could ever have imagined, a world war and a revolution all at once.

The women were all dressed like actresses. They were adorned in feathers and frills. It seemed that their clothing was made to sway with their movements and flap with every jump and swing. The men mostly wore suits and vests.

Russia watched in a trance as working men walked around the party handing out food and drinks. His people were starving while Americans broke their own laws, guzzled down liquor and then stuffed their faces with small foods, party appetizers. His hands clenched by his sides.

A loud splash caught is attention. How did this place manage to fit a large dance floor and a pool?

He should have been horrified and mad by what he saw. These capitalists were being greedy, taking every moment as their own and making fools of themselves, but as a man to his left laughed so hard that alcohol came up his nose, and the woman with him giggled, Ivan found himself amused, and then he was angry about being amused.

Yet, he still needed to find America. He was a bit concerned with how easily he was being distracted lately. He decided to visit the best place to find someone in a party, the bar. First thing first, he ordered a shot of vodka.

He would need it to deal with this situation.

"Hello!", he yelled over the music to the bartender as he handed back the empty, small, glass shot cup that felt cool against his fingers. "Have you seen a youth here? About this heigh-" He raised a hand to about a foot under his own head. America was slowly closing their height difference, but at the moment, it was still significant.

"With blonde hair, big blue eyes, and the stupid grin. Oh and the loudest voice in this whole place?"

The bartender smirked and gave him a knowing laugh. "Oh Tommy? He is flapping with the flappers." The man laughed loudly and left to serve another partier, but his eyes briefly flickered up to the banister over the pool.

Russia's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, "Flapping?", but he still turned around and looked up to where the other man's eyes had lingered for a moment. Beautiful women in white dresses with strings attached in rows and layers were dancing to something seemingly choreographed if the way they mirrored each other was any indication. Their dressed did indeed flap.

His eyes were not drawn to them. His purple gaze was stuck on the young man among them following the moves, the distinctly feminine moves he might add, flawlessly.

Snow white cheeks turned bright pink. Of course, every nation represented the male and females of their country despite their physical body's gender. As such, Russia knew every male part to his popular dances as well as the female parts, but never danced the female part in public!

America did not seem to care, and nobody else at the party did either. The girls-no women- the boy was dancing with were delighted with his company if their smiles were anything to go by. The blonde teenager jumped sideways with all of them and then twisted his body back and forth in a shimmy. The women's outfits swung, and America laughed.

It had to have been impossible, but Russia swore that he could pick out the sound all the way from where he stood wide-eyed at the bar. This could not be the same nation that stumbled from the Great War somehow victorious and then set foot on Russian land with a laugher inducing small force but ice in his usually warm gaze.

As he watched, America eventually fell out of step and bid the ladies farewell as he walked to the end of the banister to take a breather. He was wearing a white suit jacket which was open and showing the deep blue shirt underneath. His hair had confetti in it. Even from far away, Russia could see his face was flushed, but he could not tell for sure if it was from the dancing or from being tipsy.

He pressed his lips together to hold in a hiss as his hands tightened enough to make small cracks in the glass he was holding. He was here on a peacekeeping mission with this brat. He could not believe America was so foolish as to blow him off and get roaring drunk. The smile on America's face was like an insult because Russia could not hate it, and because America had lost their little conflict. He should be sad.

He should be sad not partying in a mansion! Russia set the glass down carefully in the hopes that no one would notice he had broken it.

Then, their eyes met. it was like two magnets finally getting close enough to pull each other, two opposing forces that were trapped together and could not pull away.. Their eyes clicked together and stuck. America seemed shameless at being caught dancing in such a way. He did not blush, but his eyes narrowed. He straightened as if someone had stabbed him from behind.

Then, Russia's heart nearly stopped when the younger nation jumped over the banister and went with the pull of gravity into the pool with a loud splash. People cheered all the louder, and the Russian was running. His eyes frantically scanned the pool for his crazy host in this country.

"Hello, commie."

Russia's head whipped downwards so fast that his hair and scarf tossed with the momentum. There was America, holding onto the edge of the pool with water drop speckled glasses and hair stuck to his neck with the water.

"Hello, greedy capitalist. It is rude to try and skip a peace discussion, da?", Russia greeted in turn. He held out a hand and pretended he did not feel like fireworks were going off in his heart when America took it and let him be pulled out of the pool. Instead, he yanked unnecessarily hard to see the other nation stumble.

Russia got to get a good close up look once America was out of the pool and cursing him. The nation had grown again, and he was on the verge of ending his time in a boy's body. He was growing into manhood quite nicely, not that Russia was taking note of course. All he saw was a possible future threat growing too strong. That's all...

America's smile was bright as ever, his eyes still held the sky and sparkled, and his skin was still kissed by the sun, but everything was hazy as if seen through a foggy window. Eyes were glassy, hair a flattened mess except for one strand, and his face was slightly red.

That smile caught Russia off guard. America had just been angry. Surely, he could not be so out of it that he had a mood swing so suddenly.

Oh no.

Russia's suspicions were immediately confirmed when America giggled. It was an adorable noise, but Russia did not focus on it, because he was more aware of how America wobbled dangerously on his feet.

"You are too intoxicated."

America moved closer, and Russia stepped back like the grinning boy could burn him, suddenly feeling very out of place. When was the last time he had been to a party like this? It must have been when World War One had finally ended. That was a few years ago.

America was too determined to be escaped. His strong grip tugged Russia close by his shirt. Any protests died on Russia's lips when the boy tilted his head and laughed, leaning back slightly. Automatically, Russia reached out to steady him. That left America pressed up against him.

Russia had wanted to yell at the youth just seconds ago and yet now he felt like he held the sun in his arms.

"I am not drunk, silly. I'm enjoying a good party.", America said innocently enough, but his eyes danced with humor at his own lies.

No, no, no! This was dangerous! Russia's heart was beating too fast, and he had no idea how to handle this situation. He was overwhelmed by the loud music, the smell of chlorine and fruity drinks, the warmth pressed against him. The party alone could intoxicate and morph rational thought. Adding America to that equation was too complicated.

America was not concerned. He had hiccups from drinking and laughing, and his body jerked with each one in Russia's arms. "Oh! I've gotten you all wet!"

Russia choked on air.

"My name is Tommy tonight. What's yours? I love fake names. It makes me feel like a spy!", America continued undisturbed.

"Ummm Vlad. That will do, da?" Real human names were intimate. Only a nation's loved ones would ever know their real human title. Oh but how temptation lingered in the air. Russia wanted the name Ivan to ring in his ears from such a enthusiastic voice as America's. Hopefully, the boy wouldn't remember it the next day?

America poked his nose. "No sir! Vlad is so foreign! Don't you want to fit in? I still don't very much like ya as a Russie. Of course! Imma call you Nick, and then, I can call you Nicky! Or maybe Alex. Maybe Alexander wouldn't have liked that though... I'll call you George!" He face scrunched up in distaste suddenly. "Actually, George is like a dad to me, that would be weird."

Russia was really trying hard not to smile and also not to shove America away. There was a battle of two forces in him. It was what he wanted to gain trust here, but this was as if their fight had never happened. The smart thing to do was get America home and in bed, but he could not help but find the drunk antics amusing. Maybe, he wasn't quite as mature as he claimed he was.

"Nicky is a girl name, Tommy, and if you want to give me an American name, you'll have to kill me first.", he hissed out, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

America roared with laugher so intense that the drunk nation almost tipped over. "Oh Nicky! You're such a terrifying bear! But I think you just need love! Then, you'll be a Teddy bear, named after good old Pres. Teddy! I should call you Teddy and we can march up hills in Cuba!" He threw his arms around Russia clumsily.

Russia stared at him in bemused shock. Where had that come from? He was nothing like a teddy bear, and America had thought he needed a few bullet holes along with that love if the way he supported the White Shirts was any indication.

He was about to say so before America gasped dramatically. "I love this song!" With that, the boy began to dance, this time in a man's role. In fact, he even grabbed a lady. Russia just sighed, feeling rather like a babysitter.

He wished he could dance like that with America. Two men dancing together in a couple's role wouldn't go unnoticed, but he wished it could. He wanted to twirl the boy and make him smile. He wanted to feel America's warmth against him the entire night, to watch his glasses catch the various, colorful lights up close.

He needed to make peace, though. It was weird that most Americans barely gave the small loss any mind. The win of the Great War overshadowed the small defeat in stopping Communism. It gave Russia hope that America was not so mad.

He longed for the company of the firework of a man on the dance floor.

Russia rushed forward when the lady's hand slipped into America's suit jacket. No, no that would not fly. Could she not see that she was dancing with a boy and that he was heavily intoxicated? Such actions were wrong.

Before she could lean in for the kiss that she craved by the way her eyes were locked on pink lips, Russia grabbed America and yanked him back into his own embrace. He glared at the woman now looking like she was going to piss herself. That's right. Be scared, he thought.

His intimidation was sadly dulled a bit by how America looked so content in his arms. The other nation was laughing softly with his eyes closed and his head nuzzling against Russia.

"Do not take advantage of drunk idiots.", he snapped weakly, feeling like a hypocrite before ignoring America's protests of wanting to dance more and forcing him off the dance floor. Russia's heart was pounding. He wanted to say it was with anger, but the way his arm was firmly around America's shoulders attested to that being a lie.

What would have happened if he wasn't there? A shiver ripped through him. No, America would have been fine. He was a strong soldier. If he had felt scared, he would have gotten out of it, yet, the image of a glassy-eyed America being kissed by a stranger made Russia want to scream.

America looked up at him and smirked confidently. "If you wanted to dance with me, you could have just asked."

Russia did not dignify that with an answer. He pulled the blond through the crowd of loud partiers until they were blissfully accepted in the much larger space under the sky.

"Where's your car? I am taking you home right now." He looked at America coldly, but his heart nearly melted at what he saw.

The teenagers arms were wrapped tightly around himself, and he looked confused. The cold wind must have shook some sober into him. "It's colder than your house out here!", he complained loudly and shook slightly. "My feet hurt." He rubbed his eyes like a baby, and Russia just about turned into goo.

The larger nation took a deep breath and walked over. He was upset but not with America, and seeing the nation he had come to regard as a friend then a foe and now a potential friend once more was cold and tired. "Come here, America. I've got you." He picked the smaller male up and cradled him to his chest.

"This is what you get for swimming in your clothes."

"Why did I do that? It must have been really fun!"

"Da, it looked that way."

Russia found himself with a small smile that he could no longer contain. This whole night felt like a crazy dream filled with music and beautiful scenes and people, very beautiful people.

The song switched behind them, and America wiggled from Russia's arms, nearly falling before the older nation caught his wrist. His question as to why died on his lips when he saw the blinding grin America was giving him.

It was not his usual smile that was for the whole world or for the boy himself. America was looking at Russia like he was his entire world, but also like he could see right through him. It made Russia feel like America was approving of his very soul. The grin said so plainly that he was glad of his company. "You were mad when that lady wanted to kiss me, huh? What could that mean?"

The moment froze.

Panic flashed through Russia was suddenly. America could not possibly suspect what Russia was still in such denial over! "It means nothing."

Time kicked in again.

"Dance with me!"

Russia was relieved when America seemed to lose focus and give himself over to his drunken haze.

The energizing nation wanted to dance, so be it! That was much better than talking about the feelings emerging. America kicked off his shoes and whined at first when the cold ground touched his feet. Then, he took Russia's hand and taught him the dance style of the age.

The night was a blur even for Russia. They must have danced for hours. There wasn't much talking to be done, and he did not think he could have found the words even if he wanted to speak. The stars lit up their dance floor. The wind kept them from overheating, and America's grin kept him breathless, but he couldn't help but ask the question on his lips when staring into America's eyes after dipping him.

It felt like they were too exhausted for even one more step, Russia looked down at the drunk young man in his arms. He felt a bit guilty for enjoying this so much. He wondered if America would have treated to a dance if he was sober. He was doubtful but hopeful.

"Where did all this alcohol come from, America?", he asked quietly.

America just winked. "That's none of your beeswax! Prohibition just made the good cheaper, stupid ASL. They gave me the best parties in the world on accident!"

He threw his arms back over his head. "Screw ASL! Long live the great America life!" Then, he giggled and brushed his wet hair away from his eyes. "And Nicky, this ain't no ballroom. No dipping."

The boy yawned and sat down on the driveway to rub his feet. He looked up at the sky and smiled softly, honestly. "Russia, I miss you..."

Russia's breath caught and he couched down to look at the open expression on America's face. "I miss you more." Before America could argue, Russia scooped him up bridal style and walked towards the car.

"Do you hate me?", America whispered. For a moment, he looked so terribly hurt.

Russia's heart fell and kept falling no matter how hard he tried to get a strong hold of his emotions. The panic of America thinking something that couldn't be further from the truth nearly caused him physical pain. He clutched the warm nation closer. "Of course not, America."

"But... You hit me."

 _America's words..._

 _"I thought that we could be friends! Why are you doing this? You're an idiot, Russia! You will fall, and I will give the final shot if you make me!"_

 _They proved that this was no social call. This was a proclamation that instantly made Ivan's heart harden so that he could stomach what he may need to do next. A nation's heart beat because of their people and for their people, not for each other, never for each other when it came down to their nature. America did not seem to understand that. Russia would teach him._

 _It mattered not that America had defeated the old world leader when he was a scrappy teenager of drove the last blow to the Spanish should know not to even question Russia's plan for a perfect world._

 _"I am tired, America. I have no time for this. I will create an equal world where men will never have to fight and die for wealth. Do you not love you people? Do you not want an equal world? You act like a social darwinist. It is sickening. Please America, it is time for you to go home."_

 _But America was never one to listen to people in power. When the main player told the stubborn nation to stay, he always moved. Nothing stopped his charge but a physical force. And the fighter's eyes dared him to try, those prideful pools that seemed to look for the good in everyone were now disappointed._

 _"Damn Russia... Everyone is tried, but that doesn't mean I can let this slip. I want to go home, but instead I'm here because someone has to save you from this stupid idea! If you won't protect your own but instead lead them to downfall and past reason, who will? Who will give a damn when you crumble, when your people starve and beg? I want you to stop."_

 _"I will not."_

 _Russia's hand inched towards the gun in the inside pocket of his jacket. A warning shot should do, a nice knick to the shoulder wouldn't hurt too bad. America would get the message clear enough, better yet, shooting was instinctual and impersonal. He hoped that America could see it as country to country and not friend to friend. It was a weak hope, but it clung stubbornly and kept Russia from hesitation._

 _America was not done though. His hands were clenched at his sides, something Russia would think of often after he left. He did not reach for his own gun until the striking hand was raised._

 _"When your people come running to the USA for real peace, will you let them?"_

 _SMACK_

Russia sighed and adjusted his grip on the smaller nation.

"That is not fair. I was defending my people and my ideals. That was something you could have predicted. America, you have an irritating habit of turning an blame away from yourself and making anyone that opposes you a villain. Sometimes, fighting is necessary between nations. You had no right to be in my land, and as the protector of my people, I showed you out."

Russia looked down at America's thoughtful expression and got no reply, so he continued.

"You do not yet understand that we are a colder type of being than the humans. There is no right and wrong when it comes to our people. What would you do to protect yours?"

"Anything.", America whispered. "But I understand better than you seem to think. I just hope we are better than those past. I do not want to be the new Rome with you as my enemy, but no one will stop me. I am a nice guy, but I will fight until my hands are forever stained, until the kill blow."

He looked up for a moment at the stars. The light cast enough over his face that Russia could see the small frown that seemed to stick out like color on snow.

"I'm a harbinger. Maybe...I'm not nice. Who cares. We're all dying young."

Russia shook his head and set America down carefully. "You are one of the few new world nations. There are not many young in our group, and you will live long, and get stronger." A shudder passed through him, because America's life was not promised, and if the other nation went after communism like he seemed to want, Russia was not sure his own hands would ever been clean again.

"I know that, but I am forever young and so are you and all of us really, cept China. That dude is going to fall and break a hip.", America said simply as if it was just fact. He giggled and took Russia's hand. "You don't need to worry. I may change yet."

That was not given an explanation, but Russia didn't ask. He made his way towards America's car and tried not to think of how strange this new side of the smiley nation was, the side that seemed to know everything and yet make no sense.

He didn't have to ask where the car was. It was pretty obvious that America's car was the red, white, and blue one decorated with stars.

America giggled when he saw it with pink cheeks. "Brothel on wheels.", he mumbled. Russia nearly tossed him into the passenger seat. "Het, you will be getting none of that.", he insisted with burning cheeks as he got into the driver seat. The morbid conversation before was now forgotten.

"Ruuuuussssssiiaaaa! Let me drive!"

"Het."

"Pretty please!"

"No."

"No fair!"

It was the early morning the next day when they reached America's apartment. Russia parked the car out front and turned to the sleeping nation next to him. America looked so young while he slept. It did not make him look anymore mature by the way his glasses were crooked on his face.

His clothes and hair where beginning to dry, and his white suit had a few stains from colorful drinks. His breaths were even, and Russia reached out to gently shake his shoulder. America groaned and opened his eyes lazily. He looked at Russia and then closed them again. "You are strong enough to carry me. Don't be mean."

"It is not my job to carry you, little one." America didn't respond save to flip him off, and Russia gave in and picked him up.

America was completely relaxed in his arms, almost limp, and it made Russia's heart swell. How trusting was he? He hoped America was not like this with everyone. Not every nation was good. In fact, most would say Russia was on the bad side and that America should avoid him, yet America had no fear.

It put fear in Russia.

Yet, when they reached the apartment door, America asked quietly to be set down. He opened the door with keys from his inside jacket pocket. He stepped inside lazily. Russia went to follow, but he was met with a hand held close to his face.

"Nah Russia, you can't come in." America wiggled a finger in front of him in a playfully scolding manner. His other hand rubbed the sleep from his eyes under his glasses.

Russia raised an eyebrow and laughed softly, thinking this was some game America was playing. "Oh really? Must I guess a passcode first?"

America laughed and shook his head, leaning heavily against the door. "Nope! No, no, noptity, nah." He laughed softly at his own play with word sounds. He reminded Russia of when Belarus was learning to speak.

He looked around as if fearful of being heard. Then, he motioned for Russia to come closer. His breath tickled Russia's ear, reminding him of when he had first met the boy.

"You can't come in, because... I oh!" He stumbled back and spun around dramatically before leaping onto the couch. "I forgot!"

Russia walked inside calmly and shut the door. No sooner had he turned around before the air was knocked out of him and he found himself on the floor. "For a bear, you've easy to startle.", America teased from his place on Russia's chest.

"You are like a kitten.", Russia responded before sitting up. America slid down into his lap and hugged him. The younger nation seemed to be affectionate while intoxicated. At least he wasn't stripping like England and France did while drunk.

America was hiccuping again through giggles, and Russia wished he had one of those new video cameras to capture the sound and sight. There were some things in life that were candy apple sweet. That could turn even the hardest of hearts to putty.

Russia took a small risk and indulged them both. He ran his hands through America's hair. It was still damp, and that brought an amused smile to his face. "Silly boy. You will catch cold, and then... I will have to look after you."

"You're blushing.", America observed. Russia tried to hide behind his scarf, but his scarf was grabbed. "I don't need someone to look after me. I'm going to be the strongest, and I know you don't think that."

They were staring. America's smile was energizing on its own. His lips were always stretched into a grin it seemed or occasionally in a thoughtful frown or pout. Russia wondered if they were as warm as the rest of the boy. America radiated heat, or maybe, Russia was just naturally chilled.

Now, Russia was warm. He had a friend in his arms. The city and stars twinkled outside, but it was always day in America's eyes. Was he not tired? No, of course not. Why would either of them be sleepy? How dare they not take in the moment of peace the world was blessing them with. It was painfully temporary. It was the space between two storms, and they were two little boats trying to survive.

It was hectic and scary, but Russia had a feeling he was not the only nation that thrived on danger.

The famine and war seemed so far away. The man in his arms seemed so close...

"I'm not a kid, y'know."

There were lips on his.

Russia relaxed instead of tensing at first. They were both intoxicated, one with Satan's drug and the other with the rare feeling of hope and the craving-the need- for the warmth the other tossed around so freely like it was nothing.

America's lips were soft, and despite all the drinking he'd done, they tasted fruity. Russia felt a flicker of amusement, the young nation had clearly not gotten drunk off hard liquor then. He was going to love teasing the other male about apparently enjoying sweet drinks.

The kiss was not the best he had ever had when it came to ability. America was clumsy in his intoxicated state, and he could not seem to stop moving. Yet, Russia would not want to be kissing anyone else, and it was definitely the overall best feeling he had ever experienced while kissing. His heart had not beaten like this since he had given up on winning China or Lithuania's affections.

He had sworn he would never chase again, that his heart would be protected stubbornly. Yet, he would have had to have been a fool not to indulge himself with the man currently squished in his arms. He was being weak. Letting his guard down a bit felt amazing.

Letting instincts take over, Russia wrapped his arms around America's waist. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss and was met with a squeak of surprise that would have been adorable of not for the fact that unexpected noise broke the spell.

There he was with everything he craved at the moment willing and in his arms, yet America was not in his right mind, and he would probably not have offered this otherwise. Russia's bliss morphed suddenly into disgust, but not with the smaller nation, no. It was him that was supposed to be the sober and mature companion at the moment, and yet there he was.

The temptation was so strong. He didn't have to make any big steps... But what if he had already stolen America's first kiss?

Russia gently pushed America back with horror as the image of a sober America with damp eyes accusing him of stealing something that was supposed to be precious and sweet.

Wide blue eyes met nervous purple. Russia was trying to prevent panic, wondering what America would say or think. There was no denying that Russia had kissed back in his moment of weakness. The empire crusher looked innocent now after wreaking his havoc inside of the larger man.

America was still smiling as his fingers rose to brush against his lips. "I-" He blushed and stood up, swaying slightly. "I'll be in bed. You can sleep on the couch." Just like that, he was gone, leaving Russia to anxiously anticipate the morning.

Russia did not sleep on the couch. He could not bare to sit down. The American air was crushing him, accusing him. He had not felt so small in a thousand years, so he left. America was not for him.

He felt like a coward the whole plane ride back, but there was nothing cowardly about relying on head more than heart.

 **Sorry if drunk Alfred is a bit confusing. I wanted the conversation to jump and swing, because I see Alfred as being talkative even while out of it and someone that would mood swing a bit. He's not always just thinking happy thoughts. Here's some explanation.**

 **"I'm forever young and so are you." - Nations in my headcanon tend to stop aging around their twenties to early forties when they catch up to the spirit of their nation.**

 **"Screw ASL!"- ASL is the organization that was responsible for prohibition.**

 **"Brothel on wheels."- Cars became popular in the US for -blush- several reasons... They were popular in film and had a certain excitemnet to them, not that Al ever did that in one of them. He's just a dork that's heard the phrase.**

 **"I should call you Teddy and we can march up hills in Cuba!" - Theadore Roosevelt first became famous for his daring attack up on a hill in Cuba.**

 **Other things:**

 **The Jazz age was in full swing. I feel like Alfred would be really proud of it.**

 **The water fountain with drinkable water was a real thing. They had them before prohibition was passed to encourage people to drink clean water instead of alcohol.**

 **If I Missed anything and you have questions, feel free to ask.**

 **Also, I'm still open to suggestions for things to right about. So if you have a favorite time period or event, please let me know!**


	6. The Comfort You Gave

**I'm back! This chapter takes place mostly during The Great Depression. This one has some warnings; mentions of physical abuse but not between Russia and America, mentions of PSTD, and depression.**

 **Also, please read the author's note at the bottom. It's important for the progression of the story for me to get some feedback on how historically accurate this should be regarding certain topics.**

The clock just kept ticking, and it was driving him insane. The truth was, America just did not feel like going to the meeting that day, and any hesitation then turned into stress as his already tight schedule tightened around his neck. Sometimes, things just got a bit overwhelming when he wasn't off rooming the streets, training, or partying with his people.

He couldn't sit still for long. That was nothing new, but the tight feeling in his lungs was along with the fear that he was waiting his time. He was almost immortal, but it seemed like he cold feel death breathing down his neck. The cloak tried to wrap around him like a blanket and hide him away, but he could not fall into death's arms, limbo.

The world was so unstable, but for the moment, the ground wasn't shaking in California at least. It would be terrible to have an earthquake that day...almost as terrible as him being late to a meeting that he was hosting.

Damn, he wasn't going to have time for coffee! America groaned in frustration as he hoped on one foot to tug on his nice shoes and then kick them off; they pinched too much. He instead slipped on his boots and kneeled down to frantically lace them. If they weren't tight enough, he could twist his ankle and be left to the mercy of the enemy unless he could ignore the pain and-

"Mr. America? Are you alright?", a soft voice asked from the doorway. On instinct more than decision, the now disoriented nation quickly stood with a bright smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He really needed to stop doing that. The Great War was over, and America was in economic heaven, but he was jumpy. When he closed his eyes, he saw the men that weren't fortunate enough to come home and experience the new fortune.

He shook his head and pushed his hair back. He wasn't on the battlefield. He was in a hotel in California, and he was currently worrying Lithuania who had the room next to him and was peering in through the door.

"I'm fine! Justing thinking. I'm not going to have enough time for coffee, can you believe that?", America said cheerfully in pseudo-annoyance. He snagged his rental car keys from the door and praticually bounced over the the door where his friend was waiting. They'd decided to travel together. Lithuania was spending time at his place until his own country could make some more cash, and America was happy to have a new friend.

He needed to socialize. He would get mopey if left completely alone and craved companionship. Everything was made more difficult for nations when it came to relationships of any kind. Brothers fought each other as did friends and partners, because their people always came first, and they would cut down anyone for them.

That was just the way it was. America felt his people's happiness like a sugar high that he'd never crash from if he just worked hard enough. He would do anything to see his home prosper. Yet, his people had morals as did he. He wouldn't do quite what others had. He would not be the next Austria-Hungarian Empire or the Germany of WWI.

He thought guiltily to his own few colonies before sweeping the thought under the mat. Taking some land to stay strong was different than world domination, he assured himself. Besides, most of those islands wanted to stay by now, and he was considering the thought of letting the Philippines go as soon as he deemed they could support themselves.

"A-Actually, I ran downstairs to get some coffee earlier. I assumed you like yours with sugar and added some caramel, Mr. America."

America sighed happily. "Thanks bro! You're a lifesaver. And Liet, it's just America, okay?" He was careful to keep his voice from getting too careful. The last thing Lithuania needed was to be treated like he was weak, but Russia had done a number on him, and his confidence and sense of normality was shaken.

America hadn't believed his eyes when he had foolishly walked into his guest's room to ask if he wanted to go dancing without knocking and had seen scars upon scars littering once smooth skin. All nations had their scars, but those were marks of abuse in a degree that made America feel sick, and what was worse, it was Russia that had created them as if painting some sick creation.

He wasn't sure how to feel about it. Just months ago, he had been leaning in for those lips that looked so incredibly soft but had a nice bitter edge from the brutal truth. Russia spared no feelings, and the honesty tasted refreshing. Russia's blushes, smirks, and even threats were at least honest. Honesty was rare in the world. Even America hid certain aspects of himself, and he was sure there were even more sides of his silly crush that he had never glimpsed.

It made him feel young and inexperienced. Suddenly, he was a child with a musket, seeing someone he had adored slowly turn to a monster in his mind. Yet, this was different. Russia was different. America wished he was as confident as he acted about his interactions with the large man.

He was not scared, far from it. He was the one snarking at Russia which lead to banter that made them both smile with danger in their eyes, not danger for each other. There was something thrilling about finding an equal when you ruled the world. America was learning how to get drunk off power, and Russia was nursing his hangover with shots.

That being said, America avoided, and he tried to hate, but he could not. The way Russia hid behind his scarf when feeling awkward still put butterflies in his stomach where they did not belong. He still laid awake and thought about what Russia may be thinking about. He still replayed the kiss in his mind, and thought about how he had been foolish but he wouldn't change a thing.

It could have gone so wrong... America had no idea of Russia's more vicious actions until Lithuania moved in with him and suddenly he had a best friend who was made a nervous wreck by his crush. Russia had apparently had some dark times that the younger nation knew of but glossed over in his mind.

There America had been, weak as a kitten with liquor in the lap of a fighter, and he had received gentle touches and a chaste, careful kiss. He could not imagine Russia as an abuser, and he knew deep down that he wasn't a bad man. Don't ask him how. He would not be able to tell, but if anything, Russia's company made him feel safe.

Yet, as nations, it seemed they were natural enemies. The thought made America step up as a brave warrior and left the Alfred side to grieve what could have been if they were born normal. He had learned long ago not to think about the human life he could have had. He was blessed with each living moment, and humans came and went. America was sturdy, and he was fortunate to have the title.

Yet, if he had just been Alfred, would things be different?

As it was, he sipped his coffee and took a seat in between England and Canada, and he tried to focus instead of staring at Russia. Russia, who kept staring at him. America could feel it. He just knew that the subtle glances had the persicion of a microscope. He knew what Russia was looking for. There were three questions.

 _What is America thinking?_

 _Is he scared/have I messed up?_

and finally

 _Does he remember the kiss?_

America was thinking they were fools and about how Russia had pushed him away. He did not think of it with regret or rejection but with respect. He was drunk, and Russia had not taken advantage. All America had wanted was a kiss, and that was all he got. When he woke up the next morning with a killer hangover, he was happy in the memory, but he wished Russia was there to rub his back when he threw up.

Russia had left.

And of course, that was something America did not admire. Russia hadn't just left because he had work or he did not want to deal with a hungover nation. He ran like a coward. Was it for the best though? If it was, America would have appreciated being told face to face.

So yes, they had messed up.

America wasn't scared. It took a hell of a lot to scare him, but he was nervous to bring up the topic, because he remembered everything. He knew so much more, but...

He looked up and met steady purple eyes. They refreshed him like the ocean on a hot day in Texas or sweet tea. "Staring is rude."

Russia smiled and it was as gorgeous as it had ever been. "So is not returning my letters."

"They bored me. You write like scholar, dude."

It was so easy to reconnect. They really were like magnets. Opposite poles attracted instantly. America tried to hate Russia the past few months. He tried hard, ranting about commies and about all the endearing traits as if they were stupid but...

He just couldn't hate Russia, and as infuriating as it was, it intrigued him.

He still tried to keep distance. It was easier to observe from afar and get all the facts, but America was his own worst enemy. His curious thoughts controlled him. His reaction to conflict was to confront it instantly. He was raised up to be strong, named after King Alfred the Great in the hopes that he would be strong. America hated the idea of fate, but he had to wonder if he was destined for the deeds others ran from.

At the end of the meeting, he picked up his papers and jogged towards the door. He should have been scared when a hand grabbed his wrist, but he found himself grinning. "Yes Russia?" He turned around and casually leaned against the wall.

Russia didn't smile back. "You've been avoiding me." America pretended not to notice the hurt he could see, could hear. However, guilt was stubborn.

"I've been busy."

America dared Russia. He dared with his eyes and his demeanor, leaning forwards to get to the sound waves faster. He needed Russia to take the last step. America set it up perfect. Russia could take it a million ways, but he needed to say something.

America wanted to be called out on his lie. Anger would be okay. Disappointment or amusement as well. Russia could even just stand and stare, but if America craved an honest conversation, and he wanted to know Russia didn't always leave.

Russia was for once hesitant, but he let go of America and waited a few more moments. "Lets play chess."

America grinned. "Let's figure each other out, you mean."

Russia huffed and began to lead the way from the meeting room. "You Americans speak so plain. There is such thing as a hint, but you would miss it."

America walked by the larger man's side and frowned. It was his turn to leap, but the gap seemed so far suddenly. He was never afraid of heights, but this fall could hurt, and he knew it. He had missed something or had he. Was Russia being theoretical?

"Let's play chess."

* * *

The proud years of the twenties passed for America like a firework show, but for Russia, they were just normal work days. Lenin had decided to take on a less radical form of socialism and opted to get along with the rest of the world for the time. Russia worked hard for good relations, and he worked hard to industrialize better.

WWI had been a wake up call. So many of his people had been lost, crashing and then scattering into enemies like mighty waves. He was lucky to have such a large population. It had saved him yet again.

He never wanted to fight so pointlessly again though. And Russia watched like a man on top of a hill when a tsunami stuck. He had never seen such a wide spread depression. It was everywhere.

Just not in Russia. The newly communist country was not considered a part of the world by most, and therefore, the worldwide depression didn't hit so hard. In fact, it benefitted his people.

Russia was able to point the finger now and say to his people "look at all those fools that wish they were us." He was able to hire desperate workers from other countries, particularly the US. He had to hand it to America, he had some hardworking men, but so did Russia.

The first two five year plans had brought Russia up to industrial standards of the modern world. It was his turn to walk on the clouds.

The US president, H. Hoover, blamed the depression on Europe. Europe blamed the depression on America. The world pointed fingers. They pointed it at communism's failures and the failures of capitalism as well. The Red Scare had America jumpy, and Russia saw it. It made him smile. What a cute little rabbit America had become.

Yet, that was only at first.

His smile faded as the Black Friday crash and the Red Scare didn't go away. It was not some fun thing that he could tease America about and America would blush and then smirk confidently and throw back some stupid insult.

The thing was... Russia just hadn't thought anyone like America could get depressed. Sometimes, when America smiled so brightly, it was hard to remember that he was actually capable of serious pain. Russia had seen sorrow in him before, but sorrow was something they all had to bare. Yet, America always brushed it off.

He had been a child alone in the wilderness. When Russia asked what that was like, America spoke of the beautiful forests and his original people raising him up instead of the starvation and death in James Town along with the murders to come.

He had been a preteen with no chance starring at death from the end of a barrel. Yet, America learned to embrace his old ruler as an old friend, family even. He saw a spark of hope for reconciliation and jumped at it.

He had been a starving pioneer, a soldier shot in the trenches, a griever of countless friends, an outcast, and yet, he smiled so brightly as if none of it had ever really gotten to him, and from a mind that should have been tortured came the silliest ideas and dreams. They came along with pure brilliance.

It was scary to see America fake happiness that had been real, and it was terrifying for those that wanted his help, had once depended on his help. What was absolutely worse was when he just didn't have the energy to fake it.

Russia watched the quiet man at the table who stared into space. He watched the way America seemed to be drifting off someplace far away, and he knew that place. Knowing America had wondered into it hurt like a gunshot. It was just as shocking.

When the meeting ended and everyone rushed out. America stayed in his seat for a long moment until Canada gently gave his shoulder a small squeeze and whispered something to his brother. America blinked as if waking up but finding the world for the first time. It was as if he was shocked everything hadn't crumbled.

Russia stood up quickly and left, but he didn't go far. Feeling like a complete ass, he pressed his ear to the door and waited. The North Americans' conversations should be none of his concern. He had his own work to do, but seeing those blue eyes so dead and empty made his stomach churn. Knowledge was power, and gathering intel was the first step to any operation, but the brothers whispered.

Russia only caught a few words no matter how hard he strained his hearing.

"Hold up?"

"Stock market damn mess..."

"Overworked...you should-"

"can't."

"depression... are... depressed?"

So it was justifiable that when Alfred yelled, "I am not depressed! I am damn fine!" Russia jumped with his heart suddenly deciding to take shelter in his throat. He left quickly from the door after hearing the clear denial. It brought back terrible memories.

 _"I am fine. I am strong. I am fine.", the small boy whispered over and over as screams rose in the air around him. He clutched a sword in one hand so tightly that he swore his fingers would snap._

 _He had fought her off once before from his land. He still remembered the smirk Mongolia gave him. She was a strange nation, never tied down, always running and fighting. Her slim eyes held dark abysses, and her hands were always filled with a weapon._

 _"Oh little boy, I'm coming for you."_

 _Russia screamed when his armies fell, when he was grabbed and thrown into series of Mongol torture._

 _When he laid curled up in his cell and felt helpless, when the pain faded to emptiness, he whispered to himself, "I am well. I am strong enough."_

Denial could sometimes be a powerful tool, but ignoring pain led to emptiness, which was far worse. He refused to think of the many, many instances when that emptiness grabbed him and held tight sometimes for years, and he waited for footsteps to march his way like he knew that they would.

America rushed out of the meeting room like a flaming arrow. His eyes sparked dully with anger that was forced to feel anything at all, and he nearly jumped a foot in the air when Russia cleared his throat.

The younger nation raised an eyebrow after a few moments of silence. He looked neutral, and it was strange to see such a blank expression on his face. "Yes Russia? Look, I really need to get home, man. I'm planning on sleeping like the dead after listening to Iggy monologging back there."

Russia didn't try to stop his little smile. There he was, the fighter. America could be dead inside and still try to act normal until he made it back to who he had been before or better. It was a nice start, but it wasn't enough.

Russia reached out and put a hand on America's shoulder. "That is a lie. You will go home and slave over papers recording your financial woe. You will try your hand at charity and making your people smile, and you will lay in bed at night too tired to scream even though you will feel like the darkness is eating you."

He felt like he should have tried to be more gentle, but he was blunt with America, and he always would be. The now wide-eyed nation did not need to be coddled. That would only be taken as an insult. America looked conflicted, first angry and then just tired. He huffed a little laugh that was an insult to his normal boom. Russia wanted to snap at him not to do that.

"You think you know so much, Russia?"

"I know what this is-"

America shushed him with a harsh look that faded to blankness immediately. "It feels more like drowning actually, like I can't breathe and the air has turned on me, so I need to get home and get as much done before that. Don't look at me like that, with your damn pity. I will come back from this better than ever." his confidence wavered in his voice as it spiked along with something in Russia's chest.

"I know that, comrade. Yet, the night is nice, and it is very relaxing to walk around and see the world is still beautiful. There are few constants in it, and few times not shadowed with some pain, but nature always seeks to delight.", he kept his voice casual and calm, alluring to someone probably a small misfortune away from snapping.

America studied him for a long moment before walking past him to the garden through the side door and not the main exit. Russia sighed quietly in relief and walked after him. America stared straight up immediately to watch the blue turn to black slowly as the stars itched for their chance to shine. Russia studied him while America studied the sky. The smaller man was getting too thin. The older nation hated it. He missed the slight chub that made America seem cuddly.

Now, he looked like even a slight touch could snap him in half.

Russia knew better than to truly believe that. "You are young yet. This will pass, America, just like the Revolution, Westward Expansion pains, and the Civil War, just like World War One. Everything unpleasant passes."

"And then more shit happens.", America said sadly, not mad, accepting.

"More shit happens.", Russia agreed. "But we must stay standing, and you will not give in, because if you do, when you come back, I will kill you myself."

America smiled at him skeptically. "You could try, but you don't want to hurt me. It's interesting that you're here. If I recall, we have very different ideas for the world. I would have thought you'd love to watch me bleed, but you don't, and you're such a freak. Me too though. I don't want to see you bleed or anyone else much anymore, not even Germany. I just want rest I can't reach, and I somehow get the feeling you get that."

He shuffled and looked away. "I really need to go home or Pres. Hover is going to throw a fit. It's the last thing I need."

He began to walk away but stopped before reaching the parking space. His hands nervously fiddled with his sleeves, Russia caught sight of tiny nails which had obviously been bitten or ripped at. He felt a small pain of nostalgia. The little boy in a fancy blue coat had had that problem. It was just as endearing on the young man.

"Thank you, Russia."

"No need to thank me, America. Watching the stars alone is lonely sometimes."

America whirled around with a sudden burst of energy. He didn't look frail. With the starlight coming out, he looked ethereal, and Russia stared shamelessly.

"You can call me, Al.", America said quickly, almost eagerly.

Russia smiled through his confusion. What a silly thing, a nickname. Yet, he knew how being depressed could make small things seem like the world. "Would not "Am" be a better shorted version of your name, or "Merica?""

America rolled his eyes and marched right up to Russia, staring at him with disappointment for a few moments that made the large man want to wilt. "An people say I'm bad socially."

America gave a more convincing laugh this time. "Al is short for Alfred, as in my name, as in Alfred F. Jones. Goodnight."

He gave a small bow and left a dumbstruck nation feeling more surprised and more warm than he had in years. It wasn't fair for America to drop the human name bomb like that. Russia didn't know what he wanted out of it, but he though back to the soft kiss they shared and blurted out to the shape of a young man disappearing into the darkness.

"Call me Ivan Braginski!"

He was answered with a quick thumbs up. That damn brat could have at least turned around. Russia had a feeling America wouldn't do something drastic that night, but he still laid awake, mumbling the name over and over until it felt natural passing over his lips and not some sacred code.

He guessed helping people did have its perks, and he was very glad he had asked America to stay a bit longer.

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Going forward, we will be entering WWII and then The Cold War. I'm super excited, but with these next time periods comes some sensitive material if I want to keep this accurate. There will be violence for both wars. In WWII chapters, I would like to keep the dialogue accurate to what it would have been like at the time if it doesn't offend people too badly. For example, America would call Japanese soldiers "Japs." There may also be some terribly insensitive insults from both sides of the war. The Axis will be in future chapters, and during WWII, they believed strongly in Social Darwinism, which we all know is bad. There will be mentions of war crimes such as the holocaust and the massacres in China and and China's territories at the time. The dropping of two atomic bombs in Japan will also be mentioned. Propaganda examples will be mentioned, and many of those were offensive.**

 **I want to make this very clear. THE OPINIONS OF CHARACTERS ARE NOT MY OPINIONS. Some characters are going to believe strongly in things that I do not agree with, but when I write from their point of view, I will be writing as them with their beliefs no matter what I personally believe. Please keep this in mind for future chapters.**

 **Please give me feedback on what you think will be okay and what you think would be too far. I am a very blunt and factual person, but I understand some people are more sensitive than I am. While I want this story to be historically accurate, I also want you all to enjoy reading it. So please review so I have feedback on what you like/don't like.**


	7. When We Had Each Other

**I finally got us to the start of WWII! There is some swearing in this chapter, but only a tiny bit. Happy Canada Day and have a great Fourth of July!**

 **Also, if anyone wants to be my editor for this, that would be super helpful.**

 **Here is a long chapter for being so patient!**

Most people will never remember the first time they opened their newly formed eyes and looked around, see everything new for the first time. Humans can imagine it, thinking to themselves of what the world would look like through new eyes, but they can't even come close to the reality. Adults forgot what new looked like, but new looked like everything, like wonder and promises of being real.

New took life by the hand as fresh eyes swept, as new lungs got used to air, as the world began to take a shape and people wonder how it was all possible. There was nothing, and suddenly, everything was right there for them to touch and see. And in that sense, everything was beautiful. They had no opinions but their own first impression of being, and to eyes that have seen nothing, just sight is beautiful.

In the year 1607, a new life was waking up as boats churned the water and men shouted about land, but it wasn't on the land to await them, and it wasn't on the boats.

Eyes opened, unknowingly mirroring the blurred color far above the child who did not yet know he was a child or what he was at all. He just was just as the blurry world around him and the stinging in his eyes just was. He knew no better than to think this the natural state of being, and he marveled at the strange brightness above him which was caught and thrown across the clear space with small air bubbles or green wisps.

The setting in its entirety was slowly being built up in his mind, and he looked away from the glistening above him which could be the highest point in the universe for all he knew. It seemed so far...

But it did not bother him. He was neutral party in this strange place.

There was a pressure on him, and he struggled, limbs emerging from the light brown stuff that covered the entire area at the lowest point as far as he could see and was dotted with green or strange rocks that even his new mind somehow identified as not belonging. When he moved his new body, there was pressure pushing against him. And his surroundings were cool but not cold.

He was curious but content in this new place until beautiful creatures rushed past, smaller than him and catching the light, most grey but some every color. He opened his mouth and bubbles floated out. He grinned, because every move revealed something completely new and gorgeous. Bubbles floating up, up, up!

Then, things weren't so fun. Slowly, pressure inside of him began to build as if his new body was collapsing. He didn't understand, and he stilled, hoping the feeling would simply go away.

Then, everything changed. On the surface of what the boy didn't know enough to call the ocean, the boats hit the shore, and people poured out from them. His people. His people and their adventurous spirits, bravery to cross the sea, all their hope and all their fighting spirit.

It slammed into the child like a rubber band had snapped back in his mind after being stretched. Fight! He suddenly believed that of course he could reach that high point he saw. He could make it with all the strength his people gave him. He thrashed and clawed as comprehension made him who he was.

There was a force tugging at him, his land, he realized, and there was a grand name that he wasn't yet. The name was in front of him, maybe where the shimmering was, but that name was his name, and he would become it. All this he knew the way birds knew to fly away in the winter and bears knew to chow down before the snow fell.

He went up like the bubbles, and suddenly, there was freedom from the burning and the pressure. The world seemed so much larger as if he had swam up from a tunnel into a large dome. Air! He would never forget the feeling of air for the first time, and how air made everything so much sharper than water did. He vowed in that moment that he would always claw to go higher, because moving up felt so good.

And he realized another think. That hadn't been easy at all, and it wasn't easy to stay above the water. His tiny body naturally floated, but he still swung his limbs around just in case. Life wasn't going to be easy, but that was okay, because he had made it, and life was so worth it.

He tried to move up more and quickly learned that he couldn't move in air like he could in water. The waves pushed him towards the shore, and he felt at home when he heard one of the men further away on the shore yell, "I declare this place Jamestown!"

The young nation was born from the Chesapeake Bay Impact Crater, more specifically, the pieces of meteor on the seafloor. From the moment he arrived, he had to fight to reclaim what was his. It may have been a stroke of luck that he made it, or it may have been an indication of what kind of spirit his people would have.

Either way, the path to becoming America was set in place.

He grew up spoiled. He knew it. He was the favorite, the shining star, the pride of England's colonies, and his confidence soared with each praise of his adoptive father. America learned the ways of Europe and what was called the Civilized world as fast as he could, and it wasn't long before he craved more.

America broke free of his own shelter, his little bubble of a large estate, little work, and anything he could possibly want but freedom and power, and he thought the fight was over, but the fight was never over.

But life as a nation was a fight in many ways, and it was also a life of adventure and time, and it was worth living.

He went through life fast and with wonder, and he barely ever stood down. America lived in the present and the future. He felt the pull of his dreams so intensely that it was hard to sit still, and no matter how much more he learned, there were still things hidden from him. Sometimes, he found those things by hard work, and other times, he stumbled upon things that were...just so amazing.

That was how he met Russia.

America was just fascinated right away. He didn't know much about the tall nation in a warm coat and scarf yet hands like ice, so he ran his own investigation, and before he knew it, he was all the more interested.

Years went by, and friendship developed steadily. Russia was the perfect companion for America as he grew into the role of a powerful nation. Russia didn't ask things of him, didn't try to push him forward or hold him back. He just walked with the younger nation, and it was so nice. He gave advice when asked, and he was endlessly sturdy and endlessly surprised.

America delighted in the attention the colder nation gave him. Every little thing he did naturally seemed shocking to the older man. America gave Russia as many smiles as he could even after his well exercised cheek muscles began to ache, because he could tell Russia didn't get enough of those from the other nations, and in return, Russia's quiet happiness made America feel like his dream of flight could somehow be achieved without an airplane.

But it wasn't all fun and games. Nothing was simple with nations, and the American Civil War hit, then the first World War, and then the Communist Revolution and the first Red Scare.

Yet, all of that mixed into cement, and it was the build up to a study foundation for America and Russia to stand on together in that blissful time between World War One and World War Two.

* * *

1932

America stood to the side of the dance floor and watched other nations dance in old, traditional ways he had never bothered to learn. America loved to dance, but he liked faster music than what was wafting through the ball room. Every now and then, the nations would get together in what their bosses called bonding time. It was England's turn to host that, and America had to admit, his father figure had done a great job in his own way.

The room nearly glistened just as the bubbly drinks the staff handed out on silver platters. It was fancy and grand in a way that made America feel as if he had fallen through the pages of a story book into a king's castle. The nations who had had or still had monarchies enjoyed it. They fell back into old customs easily like slipping into an old pair of pajamas.

He hummed quietly as he watched Hungary and Austria glide over the dance floor. They never missed a beat. The steps must have forever been ingrained it their muscles. There was no hesitation, just grace.

America was much more suited to old barnyards and country jigs, the streets of New York and jazz to punk rock, crowds of screaming with people more jumping than dancing, or even bars where the drinks could make any song sound good. But he was content to see others happy, and there were some decent snacks. The bonding time was alright by his standards.

He caught violet eyes across the room and smiled, hiding it behind his glass as he took a sip of sweet cider. USSR walked over with his usual grace. USSR sometimes seemed to float across the ground, which was funny considering what a large man he was, all muscle, height, and that small bit of chub that America found cute and practical. Chub helped someone survive cold winters, and USSR could be damn cold when the storms hit.

USSR walked over and stood stiffly before the smaller man. He was nervous. America could see it in his twitching fingers and the way he sometimes gave the end of his scarf a little tug, but USSR's voice was smooth. Stuttering did not suit a nation of pride and power. "One would think a young bachelor like you would be dancing already."

America laughed easily. "An eligible bachelor, maybe, but who is to say if I'm in the game?" He leaned closer to USSR playfully, ignoring how the room started to electrify. Talking to USSR was a game of wit and humor sometimes, and other times, it was candy sweet or filled with passionate declarations against each other, but no matter what, it made America full to bursting with emotion. "I'm not sure I want to dance."

Yet, America set his glass down, ready to be convinced onto the dance floor. It wouldn't take much convincing. He was obviously just playing, but USSR didn't fail to play along. "Such a pity. I would have liked to dance with you." He leaned in close. America nearly vibrated in anticipation. He knew what came next. USSR's voice dropped to a careful whispered. "Alfred, we could put the other dancers to shame."

America shivered in delight. He loved hearing his name on USSR's lips like a carefully guarded blessing. He leaned in close to USSR's ear and admitted. "You'll have to teach me, Ivan."

Then, he had a strong arm around his waist and all the adoration in those deep tinted eyes.

"Then, you must try and keep up with the lesson." USSR's gloved hand took America's bare one. His black gloves wouldn't have fit in the ballroom the way USSR's white ones did. They complimented his black suit well. Alfred had gone with a white suit that day, but his gloves were worn in a way that would have stood out against the new fabric. America's hand was on top, and he shook his head.

"Nope. No way. I am not dancing in the woman's position.", he protested even as he walked with USSR onto the dance floor. USSR chuckled and drew him close. A hand was placed oh so gently on America's hip.

"You do not know the steps, so you cannot lead. America, patience. You will learn, and then, may the best dancer win, but for now, you leading would be stupid.", USSR explained simply, and there was a spark of humor and victory in him that made America feel competitive. If USSR could ballroom dance, than America was sure he could too. He vowed to learn fast and be the best dancer ever! Then, he could lead!

Yet, just following the steps was hard. There were far too many of them, and every time America stumbled, he couldn't help but clutch USSR's hand a bit tighter, and he ended up a tad closer until the two men were sharing air. It was hard to focus feeling USSR's breath tickle his cheek as he whispered numbers that were supposed to have something to do with the steps.

USSR was an amazing dancer. In comparison, America looked like a newborn deer trying to sprint with a mountain lion. He just kept getting distracted. He wondered who had taught USSR the steps and how long ago it was. He blushed as he marveled at the grace his dancing partner so easy displayed, and that thought brought about the question of if they were partners in another sense. It all made his head fuzzy.

USSR hissed when his toes were nearly crushed as America rushed to complete a step and instead stomped on his foot. America winced in sympathy and gave a sheepish smile. "Whoops?"

USSR gave him a weak glare before sighing. "I could have sworn you were a good dancer. You looked so coordinated with the ladies that night when I drove you home." America laughed through a flash of warmth on his cheeks and replied, "I am pretty good at that type of dancing, huh? This is very different. The music is too slow." He looked down at his feet to make sure he didn't step on USSR's foot again.

"You should enjoy the slow moments. They are peaceful.", USSR stated. He tutted in playful disapproval. America laughed, and the night went on with gentle touches and small steps.

But America did begin to enjoy the way they could move slow yet with passion, and he didn't mind the soothing violin as long as USSR swayed to it.

* * *

It started the night of the ball. America had been lulled into a state of such relaxation as they swayed together that by the end of the night, he was nearly asleep leaning against USSR, and USSR walked him outside to get a cab. As they waited for one to pass by, America was struck by dread at the thought of an empty hotel room. The empty space could swallow him whole. He was sure of it.

Along with the dread came the inspiration to shake the sinking feeling in his chest as the hairs on his arms stood up and mist tried to climb higher off the ground to make the night seem to hold a thousand spirits. "Ivan, you should come with me."

They ended up falling asleep in each others arms that night. Alfred had never felt so at home an ocean away from his place. He breathed in Ivan's fresh scent of blankness, the air after a snowstorm, a tint of mint, and the smell of a room that held a Christmas tree just a few days ago and probably had pine needles still stuck to the carpet.

And after spending time like that, he couldn't go back to staying alone away from home. It would have been cruel to expect that of him and to expect that of Ivan, and it was like a wall had been knocked down.

They began to travel together, to go to world meeting locations a few days early and explore. Dates came informally such as hikes, wrestling matches and the occasional "Hey, this looks fun. Let's go." But they were undeniably dates complete with kisses and hand holding. Wonder-filled gazes. Alfred's loud laughter and Ivan's quiet contentment and small gestures of care. Spine tingling sweetness and heart pounding love viruses with no cure.

Human names flowed until they were normal, and to each other, they were more often Alfred and Ivan than Russia or USSR and America. Soon enough, they only called each other by country titles at meetings and around other nations. It was the normal relationship all nations craved and never seemed to get, and it made Alfred feel like he was in that wonderful state of freefall just before pulling a parachute.

Ivan was more hesitant. He warned that good things didn't just come without a price, that the world wasn't always the gate of opportunity Alfred saw, and they already had their problems. Nightmares left them shaking in each other's arms in the early morning, flashbacks hit, militant measures of safety never died, and the guns under their pillows were there to stay.

But things were better. Waking up to another person there to take comfort from was better than lying awake and questioning everything until the sun rose. Some nights were hard, and some were just so easy.

* * *

It was at the end of an easy night. Alfred was still asleep, curled up the way Ivan had come to expect. The American had been happy before bed. They were in the States as the depression began to fade. Alfred gushed about his new president John F. Kennedy who was leading him to "a new frontier."

Ivan was just glad his boyfriend no longer looked like he was tired every day and struggling to keep up with life. That wasn't like Alfred. Even in disaster, Alfred's smile needed to exist, and his hope needed to bud, or else the world would prove to be the one Ivan protected himself against and not the one Alfred rushed into with childish rashness.

Ivan was content to be quiet and lay in bed for the moment. His country was doing well just as Alfred's even as rumors of war started. The communists were fouled by the hope of their new image of what the world could be like. They were motivated to show the world. Ivan couldn't wait until everyone saw the fruits of his hard work in coming up with an entire new system of government.

Steel production rose quickly. USSR caught up to the rest of the world in technology swiftly with hard work. He oversaw everything with a pleased smile. Literature flourished. It really was a new culture.

It would put the American experiment to shame, Ivan challenged to his partner often and received that confident smirk he loved so much and a carefree laugh in response along with the worlds "It's good to have wild dreams."

Ivan felt how Alfred often felt for the first time in a long time. He lived in the present and the future. In the sense of how different he was at that moment, he was a young, reborn nation. His dreams tugged at his heart, and the world was filled with potential. He didn't agree with the rest of the world, and he was eager to prove them wrong and that even included the sleeping man next to him.

One didn't have to agree with their partner on everything to love them, but things would be easier if Alfred saw the glory of a new era where everyone was truly equal.

As Ivan began to daze watching the blankets around Alfred's chest rise and fall, blue eyes woke with the sky. A smile formed on soft lips that Ivan could dream up from memory by that point for nights when he was alone in his study. At the moment, he didn't have to, and he greeted Alfred with a kiss that was as calm and soothing as the sunlight slowly stretching through the window.

Alfred responded lazily, but he quickly woke up more completely and leaned into his partner. Ivan hummed happily at the warmth, and Alfred let out a content sigh when they broke apart. When Ivan stared at the glistening blue and the blinding white contrasting with earth skin kissed by sunlight, he had to ask, "What are you from?"

He watched as Alfred's sleepy mind processed the question, his eyebrows that he thankfully didn't get from his father nation drew closer together before he shrugged and replied, "Virginia. I started off with Jamestown."

Ivan shook his head. "Let me tell you a story, Fredka.", he whispered as he rubbed Alfred's shoulder which was peeking out from his red tank top.

"Even though I like fairytales, don't you dare start it with something corny."

"Alfred?"

"Yup?"

"Shut up."

Ivan laughed at the soft swat his shoulder got as Alfred heeded his request to quiet down but could not resist showing he wasn't to be ordered around.

"My sister told it like this. In the middle of a large expanse of white, there was an icicle that hung over a lake which sparkled and let the snow dance on its surface. She would often sit on the lake and wish not to be alone. She had this feeling that she was listened too, and she was less cold with the light reflecting off the ice."

Ivan checked to see if he had Alfred's attention. The American's eyes were closed, and his mouth was curved up into a soft smile unlike his wide grin. It had a dreamier quality. Ivan kissed his forehead and whispered, "Can you see it?" He received a nod in response and a small kick to the outside of his leg, Alfred's impatient way of asking for the story to continue.

"There was a tree next to that lake, and on that tree, there was an icicle which was steadily melting. It created a puddle on the lake that somehow did not freeze back to ice. As my sister watched, it formed a small child, me. Therefore, she got the company she had asked for. So I was born from ice.", Ivan finished.

Alfred's eyes snapped open with a familiar spark. "You're wrong, silly. You were born from water, melted ice that gives life and glistens in a welcoming way, just as beautiful as shimmering ice, but not as cold. Got it?" He stared the larger man down the way Ivan loved, with determination. Ivan had stopped being shocked by the boldness even when Alfred sometimes tackled him or asked to spar.

Ivan neglected to answer the question. Instead, he asked one of his own. "What were you born from?"

Alfred looked away and sighed heavily. Ivan was instantly concerned. He pulled the smaller male close and was rewarded with a small smile. "You'll think I'm a freak.", the now nervous man said. He met Ivan's gaze and cupped his cheek. When Ivan just held him and gave support, Alfred groaned. He had enough words. Sometimes what he needed was Ivan's silent support that was just there. Always there, not forcing him in a certain direction like others tried to, not asking for anything, not cursing or judging him. He had to give in when confronted with such sweetness.

"I'm born from the sky, or more accurately, a piece of space that sucked at staying in space. I woke up in the Chesapeake Bay Impact Crater under water, and I thrashed my way from the sand to the surface." Alfred laughed and pressed a hand to his own lips. "I know it sounds crazy, but I think it suits me. Doesn't it?"

There was an uncertainty that Ivan was learning wasn't as uncommon in Alfred as he'd first thought. There were many pieces to the American personification, and he hid the ones with doubt and fear under the most colorful and bright. With Alfred's eyes fixed on Ivan's and his hands nervously fiddling with the covers, Ivan knew he had to say the right thing, and with Alfred, the right thing was often just being honest.

"I am dating a piece of the sky." He said slowly and watched Alfred nod, learning forward as if he could miss Ivan's reaction. Pale hands pushed back dirty blond strands of soft, messy hair. "It makes sense. You are so strange." He laughed and kissed Alfred's forehead. "Perfect." He breathed out softly.

Alfred laughed and rubbed his cheeks as if he could wipe off the blush. "Liar." he accused with a smirk. "No one is perfect. But hey, I'm damn close, and you, are right there with me. You're awesome. Pretty, strong, supportive. Damn... Are you trying to spoil me?" He pointed a finger in fake blame.

Ivan smirked and rolled onto Alfred, making sure not to squish him too much. "You've found me out."

"You commies, there's always an alternate motive." Alfred laid back, completely relaxed in his partner's arms.

Ivan rolled his eyes. "That's more like a capitalist. You would do anything for money and power. Wouldn't you? Is that why you catch older nation's eyes? Are you a..." He held back a laugh. "A golddigger?" The term was relatively new American slang, and it felt strange and informal on his tongue.

It didn't suit Alfred who was still mostly in isolation. He would make his own money and fix himself, thank you very much. Ivan would never waste time on a nation with no shame and no strength who begged for money and protection like the weak ones he saw staring at his sunflower.

Alfred huffed with amusement shining in his eyes. "You betcha! Where's my diamonds, daddy? Better yet, where's my oil?" He raised an eyebrow in expectation, and Ivan's heart swelled with fondness as good humor filled the space between them. "When the world is communist, I will spoil you with world contentment." he vowed seriously.

Alfred's smile dimmed. His sunflower did not kept believe in Ivan's dream for the future. That was okay. He would see soon enough. Ivan anticipated the days where he would be able to tease Alfred over his disbelief, days when everyone was equal and war and class struggles were things of the past.

"I have an idea!" Alfred announced. "Let's see who is most genuine, the communist or the hero capitalist?" His expression turned hopeful like a child asking for a cookie. "How do you really feel about me?"

And Ivan- Ivan's heart nearly stopped, because he knew what he was supposed to say. It had been so long since they'd switched from friendship to something else, so long since the first time Alfred made his heart pound. It was time for that vow of words and hearts, and Alfred was someone who liked verbal confirmation.

Yet, love between nations was a dangerous thing. It could be turned into hatred at one declaration of war, at one disagreement. I love you's would then sting like old scars reopened, and everything would hurt more. Ivan knew this from the past. He assumed Alfred did not. His hesitation made the air seemed thick, and quickly, he decided to say "You know already."

And boy, was that the wrong answer.

Ivan was thrown off his partner. He rolled off the bed and fell to the floor with a undignified yelp. He quickly sat up, eyes wide, and met Alfred's equally surprised gaze. Ivan felt his heart sink. Alfred had a much better hold on his nation strength now. He only messed up with strong emotion, and as Alfred's eyes narrowed, it was very clear those strong emotions were hurt and anger.

"Get out of my room." Alfred said in near hiss that chilled Ivan. Usually, Alfred's voice made him feel warm.

Ivan quickly stood up. "Sunflower-" he started and was cut off instantly.

"Don't call me that! Don't call me any sweet names if you're leading me on, if you can't commit! I don't know what kind of delicate flower I am if you think I'm just going to be content following you around without my love being returned!" Alfred looked one slight insult away from tears. He had clearly expected the declaration of love, but he had gotten avoidance, and it cut him deep.

Ivan reverted back to old defenses. He was nervous, and old habits died hard, so he cloaked himself in anger. "Then, why didn't you say you love me? It goes both ways!"

Alfred laughed bitterly. "Goes both ways? Which one of us introduced themselves first, took the other's hand first, kissed first, invited over first? I know you're more cautious, and I want to make you comfortable, but you can't have me without some work!"

The American took a deep breath and clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. He closed his eyes and thought of what he wanted to say. When he spoke, his voice was steady.

"It takes work for my citizens, the people I literally live for, to reach the best of what I have to offer, the American dream. It doesn't come nicely gift wrapped and sent to their new home's front steps. It takes work, sweat, hard hours, strong minds, and never letting a chance slip through their fingers, and here I am, asking for you to put the smallest amount of work to get me. I should be worth a slight risk to you! God forbid you take a risk!

Angry tears rained from two circle skies and rushed down tan skin, leaving little rivers. Ivan felt like he was watching a castle he'd build crumble. He had worked on this relationship even if not in the same way Alfred had. Ivan may not have given the firsts as in the first hand hold or the first kiss, but he had stayed by Alfred's side. He had even been there in the American Civil War when no one else aided the warring nation.

Panic seized him at the thought of no longer being welcomed to hug Alfred, to chat with him about life, to lay under the stars and send their dreams through words up to the stars, to not wake up to excited eyes and sometimes the smell of coffee.

He reached out fast and snatched Alfred's hands. "I love you." And just like that, the tension left his partner. Ivan sighed in relief and kissed away hot tears. "Why would you ever think otherwise? I am not leading you on, my star."

Alfred was quiet for a long moment as he looked down at their entwined hands. "People say you have a history, a bad history when it comes to romance. I know that's true. I know I'm not your first choice. You wanted China, who has a similar ideology as you. Then, you wanted Lithuania, who was your first friend, and that didn't work out, so you decided to take a shot with the new kid."

Ivan couldn't help it. He laughed. His laughter rolled over the room, sweeping away the rest of his tension. "Settled for you?" The idea was ridiculous. No one could "settle" for Alfred.

"Da, you've found me out. I settled for my intellectual equal in the sciences, for the only person that has dreamed of uprooting the old world with a whole new system like I am dreaming of now and succeeded. For the one who built the largest railroad, who invented the lightbulb, the telephone, and the airplane. Of course, I am settling for the young warrior who has beaten not one, not two, but three empires, two which in a war he fought mostly alone. You've caught me settling for the one with bright eyes and a body like-"

"That's enough!" Alfred said quickly. His entire face was bright red like he'd been out in a storm with winds assaulting him. His eyes were wide, but there was a grin on his lips.

Alfred leaned in and kissed him, and he whispered against the larger man's lips. "I love you."

Ivan was surprised by how good three words could make him feel, and he understood and shared Alfred's craving for them completely from that point on.

* * *

July 1939

Ivan always liked the summer. The snow melted, the flowers bloomed, and the days were longer and more pleasant. Alfred always hosted a huge party in America for the Fourth of July and then took a week off of work. It was in that week that Ivan had invited the American to the USSR.

It had become a tradition now going on for five years. That wasn't very long by country standards, but everything had to start somewhere. It was strange to Ivan that he could have such a peaceful moment. The two nations were outside with the grass tickling their exposed skin. They had been goofing around most of the day.

While Japan and China raged against each other and China was steadily losing ground to his little brother, Ivan walked through fields of flowers with his partner's hand holding his tight, racing around as if they could see all the wonders of the earth in just a day if they made haste, stealing kisses in between adventures.

While England juggled appeasement to avoid another world war, Alfred rested peacefully against Ivan's side. As Ivan ran his fingers through his boyfriend's hair and smiled, he marveled at the fact that they were both powerful enough to take a step back, to stay out of the drama and enjoy peace. Who would dare be foolish enough to attack the USSR or the USA?

He looked outside. The night was still as it should be to his eyes, yet to his senses, something unsettling was happening. Alfred rolled over in his sleep with a small frown as if he too sensed something.

Ivan kissed his forehead and whispered that he was safe until Alfred settled down. As nice as it would be to have backup if there was an enemy around, Ivan didn't like to jump to conclusions, and while he knew his partner to be strong, it was everyone's instinct to keep their loved ones out of possible danger.

He stood up and reached under his pillow. He pulled out his pistol and slipped it into his night robe. Then, he walked down the entree hall just in time to hear a knock at the door. He looked at the clock. 3:00 AM. Anger seized him. People should have more manners than to visit at such a time.

He opened the door with a clear scowl and was greeted by a pristine soldier. He snapped into his role as a nation instantly.

Germany was proudly displaying his new uniform. It was black with several buttons and badges that USSR didn't care to interrupt so early in the morning, but the red arm band could not be ignored as it stood out from both the dark uniform and the night. The white circle in the middle bore the symbol of the Nazi party in black fabric.

USSR was less surprised with this development than he should have been. Germany had not completely been himself lately. He had been jumpy and in need of action with a fire in his eyes that could not be contained. It reminded USSR of his days fighting for his communist dreams. The mere idea of slowing down had been absurd to him.

"What brings you here?" He asked calmly, not at all intimidated by the stiff younger nation in his doorway who was much better dressed and had probably come prepared with something. Although, he was cautiously wary. He mostly felt contained anger and annoyance along with a small bit of curiosity.

"May I come in?" Germany asked. He was always so polite, an expert at being political. USSR could play that game easily.

They found themselves drinking tea in the living room and discussing a plan to keep USSR neutral. Germany stated, "I don't want to fight you. We are both powers. We both have strong armies and strong ideas. You make no move to attack me, and I make no move to attack you. It is simple."

"How interesting. You are right. You should not want to attack me, you should fear my military and how large it is." Germany tried to protest, but USSR cut him off easily by continuing his speech. "I do not want another war. I have better things to focus on, and I don't mind you taking over some other parts of Europe. However, Poland can not fall completely into your hands."

Germany was then distracted from the insult and his thinking steered into a planning mode. He had not touched his tea. "Perhaps vodka?" USSR suggested and gestured towards the cup. Germany shook his head. He was staying on subject.

USSR nearly signed. Younger nations seemed to have less tact in the game of politics. Make an event of it, make history something to be spoke of. Wow your enemy with subtle threats that will keep them up at night as they slowly realize just what each one meant.

Germany tapped his foot. "What do you propose about Poland?" He sat up straight as if it had been taught to him that slouching was a crime as he stared down the larger nation.

USSR smirked from his relaxed position. They were playing two different games. Germany was showing power by careful control and looking professional. USSR had given up that the second he opened the door in his night robe. He was showing power by being casual, showing that Germany had no affect on his bearing, and he could see sparks of annoyance in the serious man's eyes to reward his efforts.

"Let's split Poland. With both of us invading, he won't stand a chance, we will lose less men, and both of our lands will grow." USSR said before taking a sip of his tea. His act of not being bothered faltered with just a second when he looked up and caught a flash of blue darting behind the wall. America had no place in this conversation.

It was not for him to listen to. America would not approve. Suddenly, USSR felt like one of those poor men having to buy jewelry or flowers to appease their angry wives after being caught drinking or gambling.

Unfortunately, Germany caught his gaze and turned around. USSR watched him stare at the wall for a few moments, unable to see who was just around the corner. USSR smirked, deciding to make the best of it. "If you are feeling paranoid, all the more reason to make a deal with me."

Germany turned back to him and scowled. He held out his hand to shake. USSR was reminded of how many American country songs featured making deals with the devil, but this was real life, and there would be no fiddling contest or magic way out of what needed to be done, so he shook the hand before him with a skull ring he noticed as his hand brushed the cold metal.

But Germany stood up instantly after and walked towards the corner. "I don't appreciate being spied on." he hissed. USSR jumped up after him, and they both rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw nothing. A spark of pride filled the larger nation. That was just like his boyfriend to worry him so much and end up walking right out of trouble.

"Well, it isn't spying if you just happen to be talking while someone is making hot chocolate in the next room." America said casually from his spot at the counter.

USSR groaned. It was also just like his boyfriend to be making hot chocolate on the brink of a war and draw attention and danger straight to himself. Germany jumped and turned around. USSR didn't miss the way his hand went to the gun at his hip. America saw as well, but Germany didn't draw the weapon, his fingers traced it before falling to his side.

"America." The imperialistic nation greeted simply. He held out his hand for a handshake of greeting. USSR watched as America took his time, letting Germany's hand linger in the air for a few moments as he took a sip from his sweet drink. Just as Germany started to lower his hand, America reached out and gave a firm shake.

"Do you usually make hot chocolate in the early morning in the summer?" Germany asked knowingly. The two nations from what had been dubbed by older nations as the second generation stared each other down with nearly identical blue eyes. Germany's were a tad lighter and clearer, like the unnatural shade of windex. America's were more still than normal but as searching as always, sucking in information.

"I'm just unpredictable like that. Do you usually come armed to someone's house in the early morning?" America grinned and stood up, moving from behind the counter. USSR's eyes widened, and he had the urge to drag the smiling nation from the room.

America was in his button up, blue sleep shirt, but he had apparently decided he didn't have time in the early morning for pants. He was in his boxers which were thankfully plain black, but he was wearing red, humiliatingly fluffy slippers. Just above this slippers were two ankle holsters with a shining pistol in each.

Germany blushed and looked up to meet America's eyes after his surprised gaze flickered down to bare legs. That little glance was enough to make USSR want to stab his eyes out, but he also smirked. He had grown used to how comfortable America was in strange states. Germany was less used to the strange people across the pond.

America raised an eyebrow, and USSR's heart melted. He looked adorable with bed head in his pjs and with guns strapped to his body. If USSR described his type a few centuries ago, America would be far from it, but his opinions had changed when it came to who he wanted to date, and now, America in his current state made USSR want to grab him and never let go. Adorable and vicious was apparently a good mix.

Germany regained his professionalism. "It is best to be prepared. None of us are at war with each other, but you never know what tomorrow might bring." It was a threat, a clear threat. USSR and America both responded with smiles.

"Absolutely." USSR agreed with hard eyes that had seen and attended to the deaths of thousands.

"I'd say so!" America chirped and walked closer to the two men so that Germany was between the two other powers.

The unwelcome guest took the hint. He nodded to USSR and said, "We can have a formal meeting to discuss this later. Thank you for the tea." Germany left swiftly. He was barely out the door before Alfred was in Ivan's arms complaining about being sleepy.

Ivan sighed and wrapped an arm around the smaller male's waist. "Alfred, you know how you often complain about being underestimated?"

"Yeah." Alfred murmured and rested his cheek on his partner's shoulder.

"It would help to stop that if you checked to see if you were wearing pants before confronting a possible enemy."

The American looked down with wide eyes and groaned. "Fuck. You know what? Fuck it. Germany got to see how jacked my legs are. He must know now that it would hurt like hell if I kick him."

Ivan rolled his eyes. "To bed with you."

Alfred shook his head and his gaze grew more alert. "Ivan, I don't like this. You're making deals with bad men."

Ivan sighed and took his hands. "Sometimes, that is the best option."

* * *

 **June 1941**

"Are you alright?" Alfred demanded over the phone. His hand shook slightly with the restraint to only bend the phone slightly and not break it in half. Invaded. Germany had invaded the Soviet Union. Those bastards!

Alfred had had it with the Nazis. He wanted to stay neutral, but he also wanted to rip apart the men that dared to hurt his family and partner. Arthur was in constant trouble now, and it put Alfred on edge. He did everything he could for his father figure. He traded battleships for bases and made new treaties just so he could sell weapons to the Allies.

Alfred called Matthew whenever he could and was often met with a message. He knew his twin was busy on the frontlines.

It was only a matter of time before the world went to hell, and Alfred had a shot to keep his people out of it. He sold and traded. The war fixed his depression right up, but he still wanted to help by attacking. Yet, his people mattered far more. He didn't want another generation of Americans to know war, so he pushed back guilt at not helping and saved himself.

"What do you think, Alfred?" Ivan snapped. Alfred swore. "I'll kill him. I'll-"

"You will do nothing." Ivan said simply. "You will stay away and wait, and that is what is best for America. I know you cannot be convinced otherwise."

The words made the air feel heavy.

 **Next Chapter: Actual fighting. I promise.**


End file.
